Refired (Recovery Book 1)

by BA Tortuga

  “Come on, man. Let’s go see all the things.” Josh grinned at him, just glowing.

  “Yeah.” Kris tried for a grin and thought he managed one. “Let’s do this.”

  Damn.

  Damn, what amazing fucking luck.

  Josh followed Cypress, the man’s dreads bouncing, the little beads and ties at the end catching the sunlight.

  “Thanks for inviting us over, man. I really appreciate it.” He wanted to see everything.

  “Sure. Obviously it was meant to be. I mean, I’m jonesing on you in line, and you’re looking for me.”

  “Exactly!” Josh said, glancing sideways at Kris, who seemed pretty subdued. “You okay, Kris? Feeling better?”

  “I am.” Kris gave him a smile, those bright green eyes sparkling with something a little more evil than humor. Josh would have to ask later.

  They headed away from the highway, Cypress singing under his breath. The stores gave way to studios and houses. Cypress turned off the main road after about a block. That was really all there was on either side of the main drag anyway.

  Josh would have known Cypress’s studio anywhere. The place looked like a rainbow had wrapped around the building and given it a hug. The yard was filled with flowers—mostly roses, but there were ocotillo and deer tongue prickly pear and cholla. Beautiful.

  Little pieces of sculpture peeked out from between the flora, weird metal assemblages and animals made from garden tools.

  “Come inside out of the sun. There’s a sofa.”

  “Oh, that sounds nice.” Kris pinched Josh’s butt on the way inside.

  He jumped, laughing softly. Lord, that man ran hot and cold. Josh liked hot better, because cold made him wonder what self-torture Kris was putting himself through.

  Hell, Josh’d already had to call Zack twice.

  Today.

  Josh ducked into the little adobe studio, his breath coming in sharply at the paintings he found there, the hints of pottery in the room beyond.

  Calm down. Calm down. Don’t go all fanboy on this guy, or Kris will have a cat.

  “Welcome to my studio.”

  “Thank you. It’s…. God, you’ve got an eye.”

  “Thanks! I mean, I just make what I like. My friend Lonan says I’m touched by the sky spirits.” Cypress grinned a little, and Josh thought Lonan might be more than a friend by that expression.

  “I can believe it. I’d like to see it all.”

  “Sure. There’s three rooms. The one marked Staff Only is my wee place, so don’t worry that you’re missing something.” Cypress waved a hand at him, then glanced at Kris. “Have a seat, man. You look peaked. It’s the altitude, I bet. Where are you from in Texas?”

  “Austin.”

  “Ah.”

  Josh tilted his head. “What’s that mean?”

  Cypress chuckled. “Live music, tacos, and Barton Springs.”

  “Torchy’s!” Josh shared a grin with Cypress. “Yeah. Good stuff.”

  “I was there once, a long time ago, back before it was cool. It’s been years and years.”

  “Austin has always been cool,” Kris argued. “And weird.”

  “Santa Fe is the City Different,” Cypress shot back. “I know from weird.”

  “That’s why I came looking for you,” Josh said.

  “Just for me, huh?” Cypress plopped down next to Kris. “Cool.”

  “Yeah. I saw one of your pieces. Endless Sky. I fell in love with it.”

  “That was fun.” Cypress kept kinda… poking at Kris. It was hilarious, and Josh waited for the explosion.

  “Can I go look at the pottery pieces?” he asked. They were calling to him.

  “Of course.” Cypress waved him into the back room. “Holler if you need me.”

  “You got it.” He went into the room, finding himself surrounded with color and shapes, his eyes totally unsure where to look. He wandered, not touching, but his hands itched because he wanted to.

  God, the pieces were sexual, somehow tribal and modern at the same time. Each different pot seemed to thrum with its own energy, seemed to vibrate with it. Josh wanted the whole collection kinda desperately.

  “I want to do a showing,” he said, going back into the main room. “I have a gallery in Austin.”

  “We have a gallery,” Kris pointed out.

  “We do. I’m fascinated by the pottery and the paintings, by your process.”

  “My process? Huh. You’re welcome to watch me work anytime. I like your guy. He’s fun to poke.” Cypress poked Kris again, who burst out laughing.

  “He’s amazing. I think I’ll keep him.” Did he just say that out loud? Really?

  Kris’s green eyes turned to his, bright with laughter, but going darker with something that looked very much like desire from where Josh stood.

  “Come see the paintings. I have a whole new series.”

  “Where?” Josh felt fired up, as if he was where he needed to be, right then and there.

  “Come on.” Cypress took his hand, drew him over to a series of canvasses. The paint leapt off the canvas, the shapes erotic, breathtaking.

  Josh stood there, blinking, tears threatening. This was why he did what he did. He couldn’t quite breathe; he couldn’t speak. He was trapped in the visual.

  “Josh? You okay?” Kris stood, coming to put a hand on his arm, grounding him.

  He leaned back into the touch. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s… damn.”

  “Found you a new muse, huh?” Kris asked.

  “I…. Cypress. This is….”

  Cypress laughed. “He gets it. I love it.”

  “I could collect them all,” Josh said, nodding firmly. “They’re spectacular.”

  “I like him. You’re sure I can’t keep him?” Cypress asked Kris, who shook his head firmly.

  “Nope. He’s not available.” Hot again. Superhot, with that possessive look Kris gave him. All grumpy cowboy, which had a certain appeal to a Texan like Josh.

  Josh was fixin’ to explode from pure glee.

  “So, what kind of showing are we talking about?” Cypress asked, chewing on his thumbnail around the words.

  “I’d like to show both the paintings and the pottery. Our standard rates are 50 percent on the paintings and 40 percent on the pottery.”

  Cypress blinked at him. “You mean all of them?”

  “If you’ll let me. Please.”

  “Oh. Wow. I mean, I’d have to close my studio for a few weeks… and would I have to be all social?”

  What an odd question. Cypress was clearly charming. Easy to talk to. Why would he have any problem meeting folks at an opening?

  “One night. The opening. That’s all we need.”

  “But I’ll be the one to approve the hanging and placement?”

  “Of course.” Anything. Just say yes.

  “I don’t have a reliable car.” Cypress didn’t look as if he was calculating, like he was trying to fuck them. He looked worried. “I mean, I can get to Santa Fe and back, but—”

  “We’ll fly you down,” Kris said.

  “Oh. Oh, I… I haven’t flown in a long time, but sure. Yeah. I mean, yes.”

  “Thank you!” Josh held out his hand to shake. That meant something to him still. God, this was amazing, that he’d gotten a show with such an emerging talent.

  Cypress tugged him into a hard hug.

  Josh grunted, then hugged back, patting Cypress between the shoulder blades.

  God, the man was tiny, just skin and bones. Maybe Josh could get him some lunch.

  A hamburger. Fries. A gigantic milkshake. Something to put some meat on those bones.

  Kris cleared his throat. “We’ll get a contract going.”

  “Okay. Okay, cool. I mean, do you guys want a drink? I have kombucha.”

  Kris chuckled. “How about we go somewhere to celebrate?”

  Josh whispered, soft enough Cypress couldn’t hear, “Coward.”

  Kris popped his butt. “Kombucha has alcohol in it,” K
ris whispered back.

  “Let’s go to the Hollar. It’s got cheese grits.” Cypress’s eyes lit up like Christmas.

  “Oh, that sounds amazing.” Josh loved grits, and Kris would eat there.

  “Come on. Let’s go.” Cypress opened the door for them, let it slam shut behind him.

  Josh wanted to ask if he ever locked it, but that seemed rude. Once Cypress began to sell like hotcakes, he’d have to keep the studio secure.

  It actually ached a little bit, to walk away from the art, from the energy emanating from it, the joy. Kris touched the small of his back, and that eased things, made him feel more himself.

  Kris knew him, knew how he got caught up. Josh gave a wry little laugh. Addictive personality.

  Some things never changed, he guessed. Still, art was a way better bet than booze. Art was like life and sex and breathing. Hell, art had given him life when he’d thought every light in him was gone.

  “Do you always think so much?” Cypress asked.

  “Yeah.” Josh nodded slowly. He supposed he did.

  “God, that’s exhausting. I sympathize.”

  “He can get lost in his own world for days,” Kris said. “It can be lonely.”

  “He’s like me. I knew I was drawn to you. Knew it. I must have been waiting for you both,” Cypress murmured.

  “Yeah, I said that about your art.” Josh had been waiting for an artist like Cypress for years.

  “Excellent news. I love when magic happens.”

  Josh remembered feeling magical. He was trying to get there again, even if he had to do it with someone else’s art. His own had—well, it had left him.

  They made it to the Hollar, where the decor was a crazy mix of Mexican and railroad, and the food was just as wild. Fried green tomato BLT sat side by side on a big menu board with green chile enchiladas.

  “Cypress!” one of the waitresses called. “Who’d you bring to see us?”

  “These are… uh… my new friends.”

  “Josh McPhee. This is Kris Cerny. We’re buying art.”

  “Oh, rock on. Pick a table and have a seat.” She waved. “Menus. Agua fresca for Cypress. What to drink, boys?”

  “Iced tea, please.” He could murder a tea.

  “Water,” Kris said, holding his hands up and spreading them vertically. “This big.”

  “You got it.”

  “It’ll be bottled, you know,” Cypress said. “We don’t have water here.”

  “I know!” Josh said it before Kris could answer. “Strip mining, right?”

  “Evil fuckers.” Cypress growled, dark eyebrows lowering. “Raping the land.”

  Josh reached out, patted Cypress’s hand. “Yeah. Yeah.”

  “So, are you from Madrid, Cypress?” Kris asked, easing into changing the subject.

  “About an hour north of here. I’m from P’osuwaege.”

  The word sounded so foreign, so utterly unexpected from Cypress’s mouth, that Josh tilted his head. “Where?”

  “The Pojoaque res, honey. North of Santa Fe.”

  “That’s a Pueblo, right?” Kris asked. Someone had been doing their research.

  “One of the Eight, yeah.”

  Josh just grinned. A Native American artist. That would only make a perfect thing better. Austin loved to support minorities.

  “Cool. I’ve always wanted to go to one of the Pueblos on feast days.” Kris leaned one elbow on the table, clearly warming to the subject.

  “Yeah? The Taos Pueblos have some great celebrations.”

  Josh lost track of the conversation, focusing on Kris’s hand on his thigh. Warm, firm, Kris held his leg, pinky near the seam of his jeans. It wasn’t twitching or jerking, just resting there, solid and sure.

  The touch felt so familiar, and yet so odd. His body kept wanting to take a very personal interest. He swore he could feel every single finger, every line in Kris’s fingertips.

  Josh breathed in, then out, trying not to jump Kris’s bones.

  “Be good, baby. You’re looking like a starving man at a banquet.”

  Right.

  Right. Breathe.

  “It’s so cool to see two guys so much in love,” Cypress said.

  Kris squeezed his leg, the motion seeming involuntary, surprised. Then again, maybe he was reading too much into it.

  He felt like his heart was in a washing machine—banging and twisting, spinning and confusing the hell out of him, but somehow coming out clean. He grinned at the analogy and answered Cypress. “Thanks. You’re not married?”

  “No. No.” Cypress looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.

  “No worries, honey,” Kris said. “There are tons of singles in Austin.”

  “Ah, hipsters and cowboys.”

  Kris laughed, the sound genuine and merry. “Yep. That’s what we got. You kinda seem to like the hipster type.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Hey, not being judge-y.” Kris waved the hand not on Josh’s leg.

  “No. No, I have… you know how it is. We were together. We’re not now. I miss him.”

  Josh huffed out a painful breath. He got it. He so got it. “That sucks, man.”

  The waitress came back, and he ordered the enchiladas, Kris got the BLT, and Cypress got cheese grits and chicken sausage.

  “Yeah. So. How does this thing work? This show thing.”

  This he knew. “So we’ll do some marketing, and we’ll get you in, have you do a few low-key interviews with me, then we have an opening. Easy peasy.” Josh was exaggerating a little.

  “Do I sign a contract?”

  “Yes. We’ll have a simple contract to protect us both.” Kris smiled. “Nothing fancy.”

  “Okay. I mean, I don’t have a lawyer or anything.”

  “Well, we can help you find one, right, Kris?”

  “Sure. You can also have someone you trust personally look it over. I’m not out to screw artists, because I want them to come back.”

  Josh nodded, his head bobbing like a damn bobblehead doll. “Honest. We want to show your art and make some money off it.”

  “Okay.” Cypress brightened. “Maybe I can get Lonan to look it over. He does contracts all the time.”

  “Excellent.” Whatever made the man comfortable. Their contracts were super fair. He wasn’t worried.

  “Cool.” Cypress touched everything, fingers skating over cups and silverware.

  Kris watched, but Josh didn’t mind. He’d worked with an artist once who had only eaten food that came wrapped in unopened cellophane.

  Art people could be—picky. Weird. Hilarious and lovely.

  They gave him hope.

  “I like saltshakers,” Cypress blurted out. “Such neat little pieces of art for such an everyday purpose.”

  “I have elephant ones at my house.”

  “Neat! I love elephants,” Cypress said.

  “Gops,” Kris said, and Josh chuckled even as Cypress gave him a curious look.

  “Gops?”

  “Yeah, my grandmother… you know how the Republican party has an elephant for a mascot? Well, they used to be the Grand Old Party. GOP. Gop.”

  God, Josh loved that story.

  Kris grinned. “She took me to the zoo when I was a kid and told me to look at the gops. It stuck.”

  “Gops. Can I use it?” When Kris nodded, Cypress beamed. “Cool. I think that’s a great story for a new series….”

  “I’d be honored,” Kris said. The man did love to be part of things.

  “Rock on. I… I need to….”

  “Sit and eat, Cy.” The waitress plopped a plate down in front of him.

  Cypress stared down at the plate for a moment before sort of… inhaling the food. Boom.

  Someone was hungry. Hopefully this would be as good for Cypress as it would be for the gallery. The waitress brought Josh’s enchiladas and Kris’s BLT.

  “That looks great, honey. Honest.” He put some slaw and green chile on the top of his meal a
nd dug in.

  “It does.” Kris dug in too, making happy noises, but pushing the cornbread over to Cypress.

  “You don’t want it?”

  “Too many carbs,” Kris said and managed a straight face. Josh was proud. He’d reward Kris with cake.

  “Thanks.” Cypress sucked down the bread, too, and the waitress refilled the basket without a word.

  Josh shot her a thankful look. Looked like these guys took care of their own. She winked at him and mouthed, “He forgets to eat.”

  He nodded. He understood that. He bet Kris did too.

  “Oh, that was good,” Cypress said, leaning back to pat his belly. “Gops!” He leaped up and streaked out the door like a shot.

  Kris snorted. “What is it with you and freaky artists, babe?”

  “Me? You revved him up with ideas!” Josh chuckled.

  “Uh-huh. You get a bunch of weird political elephant pots and I’m out of here.” Kris was grinning, though, looking pleased.

  “You know I’m a blue state, 100 percent.”

  “I do.” Kris squeezed his leg. “You happy?”

  “I am. Did you see what I saw?”

  “I think he’ll sell like hotcakes. I didn’t get all spiritual about it,” Kris teased.

  “Fuck you, monkey man.” The old nickname came to him, easy as pie.

  “Mmm. Yeah.” That low sound made his hair stand up.

  He looked into Kris’s eyes, his heart beginning to pound hard. They were nowhere they could do anything, but oh, he wanted to.

  “I love that, how I can see how much you need,” Kris said, smiling that wicked, sensual smile he loved so much.

  “You boys need a room? My sister owns a B and B.”

  “We have one in Santa Fe, but thank you.” Josh’s cheeks were hot as hell.

  “No problem. We got a lot of gay folks here in Madrid.” She popped her gum. “Dessert?”

  Kris nodded. “God, yes. Cake of any kind.”

  “We bake our own. Tres leches or carrot?”

  “Tres leches for me, please!” Yum!

  Kris wrinkled his nose. “Carrot, thanks.”

  “Snob.” God, he was happy. Like, in his bones.

  “Shit, baby, you know I’ll eat anything sweet. That’s just a lot of milk for me today.”