Black John

by Amy Lane

  John was not particularly sentimental about that part. “Nana completely redecorated the minute Tory and I moved out. We came back for Christmases and breaks during college, but she and Crosby had laid this place out like a bed-and-breakfast by then. I think she had dreams of starting a new business at the age of eighty-five, you know?”

  “Wow!” Galen sounded suitably impressed with Nana, and that made John warm to him even more.

  “Yeah. Nana was pretty awesome.”

  “So you left it like a bed-and-breakfast?” Galen asked.

  John opened the door, feeling a little embarrassed. “Not all of it, no. Most of the models who stay here are… you know. Kids. Eighteen to twenty-six, with a few exceptions. We kept a couple sort of cool theme rooms, but most of them Dex redid to look like, well, not so much dorms as—”

  “As bedrooms from home,” Galen said appreciatively, looking around. “I got the sword and sorcery room?”

  John grinned. Game of Thrones, Spartacus, Lord of the Rings—you name the fantasy show poster, it was up there. “There’s a Daytona 500 room down the hall, and one with super math computers for the guys trying to get their degrees, and a couple of plain ones that look like low-rent dorms, with a queen-size and a bunk bed in the corner. Some of the guys are just more comfy there—it doesn’t feel like… you know. Something dirty. Just a thing they’re doing for college, that’s all.”

  Galen looked around and nodded. “I’ll take it,” he said, sitting on one of two queen beds with the brown castle-wall-patterned comforter. “But you know, you’re totally puncturing my idea of heartless pornographer. Are all the companies like this?”

  John looked away. He didn’t want to know. “I doubt it,” he said, not sure whether to feel disloyal to his fellow workers in the sex industry or apologetic to those outside of it. “This I could do because Nana left me money. I buy the guys first-rate health insurance because I had to take Tory to rehab three times, and it cleaned us out every damned time. I try to make working pleasant and comfortable and fun when they can manage it, but I’m sure some guys hate it. I mean….” He looked around, thinking about all of the sex that had been had in this house, on Nana’s specific request, and how none of the things he was talking about had anything to do with sex at all. “I see a little of myself and a little of Tory in pretty much every employee I’ve ever had. And it’s different pieces of us with different guys, but that’s how I see porn. A really awesome piece of being human. That’s what I’m trying to sell. That one moment of human connection when it’s all perfect. I guess I can’t do that when it feels like I’m raping their… their people-ness for money.”

  Galen stood up, leaving his cane at the bed, and walked toward him with intent in his eyes. John dropped the bag on the dresser by the door and tried to move his shoulders out first. He saw what was coming, and he knew all the reasons he shouldn’t let it happen, and was trying to be a good guy.

  Galen got to him first, probably because John wasn’t moving that fast. “Trying to escape?” he asked throatily.

  John closed his eyes. “I thought we agreed—”

  “I’m a junkie, John. Don’t trust a word I say.”

  “You’ve got a dependency,” John said primly, trying to keep his voice from sinking, growing breathy. “I’ve been a junkie—you’re nothing like one.”

  “Yeah?” Galen brought both hands up to frame John’s face. “That stubble,” he said, smiling. “Always surprising.”

  “Galen….”

  Oh, those light green eyes were mesmerizing. Dilated or not, they looked innocent. Like Galen had been an alligator but had shed his skin and become a mammal instead. John raised his hand to cup the scarred cheek, moving in firmly when Galen flinched away. He could feel the scars, the twisted skin that had healed that way, the places where parts of his cheek had been joined, probably with stitches. Slowly, because he knew scar tissue could be delicate, he caressed it with his thumb, and Galen melted into his hand, trapped it there against his face.

  “Nobody touches the scars,” he whispered hoarsely. “Nobody.”

  John thought about his body, skinny, twisted, but belonging to that surprising sense of humor, that very Southern sense of irony, and he wanted to possess it, possess it all.

  “I would touch you all over,” he breathed, and he bridged the gap between them, plundering Galen’s mouth without finesse because he wanted him, with a simple, animal want. His enjoyment of the man’s company was becoming a connection forged gut-deep.

  The ding of the microwave sounded unnaturally loud, and it sent John jerking back.

  “Food,” he muttered, not meeting Galen’s eyes. “I promised you barbecue and a swim. Put on your trunks. You can swim while I cook.”

  He turned and fled then, but not before he saw Galen, his mouth bruised and swollen, his hair in stunning disarray, staring at him in confusion and something like worship.

  JOHN HAD remembered to press the button and close the pool cover, so they found nothing in the pool but water. He was grateful on two levels—level one, he didn’t want to have to deal with any of his reptilian brethren, and level two, he wanted Galen to have a good time.

  Galen obliged.

  John watched him from the window while he prepared the salad and bread, enjoying the sight of him swimming uneven laps in the silken water, stopping every so often to catch his breath. He got a clean look at the scars without feeling guilty about making Galen self-conscious, and he felt something decidedly twisty, uncomfortable and sharp, in the vicinity of his chest.

  Galen could have died.

  He might be bitter about the accident that took his career, his boyfriend, the friends he’d thought he’d had, but he could have died. His flesh had been stripped from his bones, then peeled back into place and stitched. The surgery scars on his knees, on his ribs, on his abdomen, spoke of months of agonizing recovery, and Galen’s own sardonic testimony had told John what had been waiting for him when he was done.

  Nothing.

  Nobody.

  An empty apartment in the downscale side of town, where the stripper junkie next door stopped by for a beer and left Galen with the lingering taste of self-hatred.

  And the many, many beautiful brown bottles of oxy and codeine and the other things John didn’t even know.

  Suddenly John wondered if Galen had brought his bottle with him. Of course he had. He’d probably thrown a couple extra in the duffel to make sure.

  I wonder if he’d share.

  Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. Mentally John took one of his visualization exercises and slammed the door to Galen’s room, locking his duffel and the temptation away inside. Why would John want a pill now? So he could feel less empathy for the man who wanted to become lovers? What sort of asshole did that? “Your pain was too much, so I relapsed. Sorry! Let me introduce you to blow!”

  No. Fuck no. John was better than that. The look in Galen’s eyes just twenty minutes ago told him he was better than that. Galen thought he ran a clean house. Galen had found a way to sidestep his judgment, see something worthwhile in John. John couldn’t pay him back by using him as an excuse. That wasn’t right, and Jesus, hadn’t John had enough of what was wrong?

  And then the insidious little voice spoke in his head again. This time it was taunting.

  You could save him.

  Like I saved Tory? I can barely save myself.

  The steaks on the propane barbecue by the pool were starting to smell done, so John walked food and dishware out to the recently cleaned picnic table. As an afterthought he brought place mats and a couple of candles. Yeah, sure, they were citronella, but there were mosquitoes out there, and if John set the candles up around the picnic table, they’d be sort of romantic without actually forcing John and Galen to inhale greasy smoke with their food. All he had to drink was apple juice and milk, so he brought the apple juice and two wine glasses and figured they could play pretend. Let’s pretend we’re not broken. Let’s pretend we’re not addicts. Let’
s pretend this isn’t a date.

  “SO, YOU gave Dex part of the company?” Galen asked incredulously. They had eaten, and John had even pulled out some vanilla ice cream with peach preserves for the top. All that remained was conversation, and neither of them had seen that many movies in recent months.

  “I almost put it up my nose,” John reminded him shortly. “I mean, Dex was furious. Not just because I almost dragged him back in when I’d been the one to help plan his way out, but because I put the company at risk. He did the math.” John shrugged and shook his head. “I’d never done the math. I just kept thinking, ‘Look! The guys seem to be having fun, and everybody’s making money, and we keep making more of it!’ But I never really thought, you know? People were paying mortgages and doctor’s bills and helping their parents or their spouses through school. Not just the models, either. The gaffers, the laundry service, the receptionist—all of them. I didn’t even realize they were depending on me, and I almost let them all down.” Pensively he rested his chin on his doubled fists. “It just seemed like Dex was the better bet for a while. And seeing what I put him and Kane through, it was a reasonable demand.”

  Galen shook his head. “Man, I was hired to protect suckers like you, do you know that?”

  John scowled. “Up. My. Nose. Galen, do you get that? I was flushing the company away—”

  Galen wiped the ice cream off his upper lip with a paper napkin. “Wouldn’t matter,” he said crisply. “I could punch a hole in that contract so fast—”

  “But you shouldn’t,” John maintained, knowing his face had fallen into hard lines. “And I hired a lawyer to make sure I couldn’t. I don’t want to lose the company, but Dex will help keep it afloat. Hell, he’ll help make it better.”

  “But who does that!” Galen insisted, half laughing, half in earnest. “It’s a million-dollar—”

  “Multimillion dollar,” John informed him blandly. They’d cleared three mil the year before—thank you, Chase and Tommy and your sexless video talking about happy endings. It had made everybody a lot of money, and he wished them well for it. “But that’s not the point. The point is—”

  “The point is, you fell for the guilt trap,” Galen dismissed.

  John was suddenly angry. “And I should have,” he snapped. “But even that’s not the point. The point is, Dex built the company too. He was one of my first models, and that kid fucked his way through several states to help build Johnnies’ street cred. He fucked guys he never told me about to get us distributor contracts. He disappeared once for a week, called me to tell me he was getting laid in a Texas penthouse, and when he got back, we had so much free computer space in our account we could transition all our videos to streaming. And when he told me he wanted to stop fucking, we edited porn side-by-side for a year and a half. This whole renovated dorm room? He did this, and yeah, I paid him a salary, but he put some real thought into it, all to make the guys happy. Dex earned this. It may not have been legal, but he’s earned it. If I could even think about paperwork right now, I’d find a way to give him more of the company. He’s got a family now—he’s gonna wanna put Kane’s niece through college. I can help do that.” He shrugged. “I know I didn’t expect to be king or boss or whatever, but as far as I can see, that’s one of the real perks.”

  Galen laughed—for real this time—and leaned back, grinning in honest delight. “Wow. Look at you go! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings about your boy, but damn. All that laid-back ‘I got this’ kind of guy, and you got a fuse, don’t you?”

  John growled, coming down off his high horse, and let his shoulders relax. Silence fell after his little outburst, and he looked into the pool. The underwater lights had come up, and it was limned like a jewel in the glow.

  “He’s not my boy,” John said, feeling it for the first time, for real and good, since he’d cried his way through rehab. “He’s a friend. A better friend than I deserve, but he’s just a friend.”

  Galen regarded him skeptically. He’d put on a blousy button-up shirt when he’d gotten out of the pool, and then “neglected” to do up the buttons. John recognized the attempt to look sexy, to look nonchalant about his seminudity, and the scars, and appreciated it. Besides, the pirate look was sexy, and it worked pretty well on Galen, especially with that sort of sneer he had when he was being sardonic.

  “Well, for some guy who’s just ‘a friend,’ I am awfully damned tired of hearing about him,” he said, eyebrow cocked.

  John looked back to the pool. “I was the boss,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to do it, but I didn’t often sleep with the models, and I was awfully damned picky about the guys I did sleep with. Dex almost had his degree, he was only a few years younger—he was really the only guy I could talk to for the last five or so years. I thought I was in love with him, but the more I think about it, I was just lonely, and he was the closest thing I had to family. And then he hooked up with Kane, who didn’t dick him around or break his heart, and suddenly there I was. Best friend. No benefits.”

  God, it was either jump in the pool or go raid Galen’s duffel bag. John stood suddenly, stripped off his button-down, and toed off his flip-flops. Without another word he ran off the porch and into the water.

  And oh! The water was good.

  He sank slowly to the bottom, wishing he could just wrap his arms around his knees and stay there. Not even the noise in his head penetrated the glowing blue vacuum.

  A touch on his shoulder startled him, and he flailed for a minute before breaking the surface. Galen was sputtering across from him, wiping water from his eyes, the sexy pirate shirt sodden on his shoulders.

  “Jesus,” Galen snapped. “You were down a long time. Scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry.” It sounded sincere—felt sincere. Go figure. John was capable. “It’s just so peaceful down there, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Galen said, nodding. “If I could do this every day, I could probably cut back on my meds.”

  “Yeah?”

  Galen shrugged and then floundered a little as he treaded water. Not as easy as he was trying to make it look. “I’ve got a stretching regimen. It should go better under water—that’s why the nurse comes by.”

  John felt an absurd stab of hope. For company, for something.

  “You could, you know.” John stretched his legs beneath him, bobbing as he rotated his ankles and elongated his arches. Oh yeah. That was nice. “While I’m here. You could stay in the spare bedroom, come with me to help go through Tory’s stuff, help me set up the funeral, and, you know, stay in the pool and sun yourself in between.” He grimaced, because there was no good way to say this. “Or was your social agenda full?”

  “My social agenda was not full,” Galen confirmed dryly.

  John felt that grin again, hated himself for it, hated the hope. “Then we can do that,” he said, trying to sound grown-up and not like a little kid. “No reason not to.”

  “Oh, there’s one or two,” Galen said with meaning. “But I don’t know if I feel like indulging in those right now.”

  “Yeah, that common sense, it’s the height of decadence.” John tried to make his voice acidic, but the water was just so silken, so gorgeous, washing away the past, the pain, misgivings. He came out sounding playful, and Galen tilted his head back and laughed. For a moment the lines of pain around his eyes and the bitterness washed away too, and he was a young man, and he still had some promise in him.

  That was the man John saw in his heart for the rest of the evening. That was the man he laughed with—even played a game of water Frisbee with, before they pulled themselves out of the pool and cleaned up.

  There were dangers in seeing only the beautiful in the ruins—John knew that. He was too old not to know that. He had no excuses.

  GALEN WAS visibly tired when they got out—circles under his eyes, movements languid and unfocused. He shrugged off the wet pirate shirt and let John hang it on the back of one of the deck chairs, and then held tightly to the meta
l cane as they walked into the kitchen.

  Good. Good. He was tired, and he probably couldn’t get it up, much less hit on John when John was trying to be good.

  “Go to bed,” John shooed with a smile. “Read or something, but you’re going to be drooling on your shoulder in about two minutes.”

  Those bruised eyes could sure look wounded.

  “But… I mean….” He scowled, looking as put-out as a frustrated infant. “I was going to seduce you!”

  “Shocked,” John said dryly. “Shocked I am that you think I can be had for a swim in the pool and a steak dinner. I, sir, am a gentleman.” He took Galen’s elbow and steered him down the hall.

  Galen pulled away from him as they neared his door. “I’m not a child,” he snapped.

  John sighed, leaning back and scrubbing his face. “Neither am I,” he confessed, thinking that the bottom of the pool looked awfully peaceful right about now. “And I’ve had my share of guys, but I’ve only been in love twice. My heart….” Oh, this was embarrassing to confess. He rubbed his chest and made what was probably his indigestion face. “I’d really rather not do coke again,” he said baldly. “And I’d really rather not ever have to do what I did today for another lover.”

  Galen swallowed and looked away. “I won’t go out that way,” he said stubbornly.

  And right then John was too tired to have sex, even if Galen could go on his knees right now and take his cock into that sweet, soft-lipped mouth. “Tell that to my heart.” He leaned close enough to smell the chlorine on Galen’s skin and kissed his temple. “Good night.” And then he turned around to clean up dinner, making it a point not to look back.

  Well, that was one decision he wouldn’t have to make again today, right?

  When he was done washing dishes, he walked back down the hallway and paused to listen at Galen’s doorway. He heard nothing but gentle snoring, so he went to his own room, showered briefly, and slid into bed with a certain satisfaction.