by Jamie Lake
“Yes. Won’t you, Peter? Won’t you please tell me, finally, what in the hell is going on?”
“Oooh! You said ‘hell’!” Johnny said, in his sing-song voice.
“Son, please hush it,” Chip said calmly but sternly.
Peter patted the back of Johnny’s head as if to apologize for his father's outburst.
“Johnny, why don’t you brush your teeth while your daddy and I talk, okay?” Peter was disappointed Chip would act like this in front of Johnny. Johnny didn't need to see this. He was far too young to understand, and it was their job as the adults not to do this sort of thing in front of an audience.
“Okay, Peter,” Johnny answered, hopping off his chair and racing into his bedroom.
Peter sighed, “You said you wouldn’t judge me.” But he knew that Chip would. Everyone was like that. He didn't know why he thought Chip would be an exception.
“Yeah?” Chip said, gripping the end of the kitchen counter.
“That I could tell you anything and you would have time for me no matter what,” Peter continued.
“Yeah?”
Peter sighed again. How was he going to put this? That he was being blackmailed into seeing Tony? That he had to continue to do this work to pay his bills even though he knew Chip wouldn't approve. He'd tell Peter to quit. And then what? Then Peter would get kicked out of his apartment and Tony might hurt Chip and Johnny.
“Peter,” Chip said, “What is it? Tell me. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
“I’m a … you have to understand, things have been really tight for me, and I had to pay rent, and then I heard they were going to shut down the kindergarten department, and I had to do something, anything ...”
“They were going to what?” Chip asked. It was clear he was losing his patience. His face was reddened and his eyes were narrowed.
“Principal Close said they had no more funding and I gave up half my salary. I mean, I cut down to part-time hours so that we’d have enough, and ...”
“Peter, what are you rambling about? Just answer the freaking question. Tell me!"
Ring! Ring! Both of their eyes settled on Peter’s phone on the table. Peter didn’t even bother glancing at the Caller ID, as he knew who it was. He swallowed with guilt, hoping it would stop ringing. But it didn’t. It. Just. Kept. On. Ringing.
There was silence between them, but there was clear tension rising. He could feel the tension coil about the room and then snap. Finally, as Peter started to reach for the phone, Chip stormed over to it, grabbed it, and flung it against the wall as hard as he could. The phone smashed against the wall and landed on the tile floor with a clatter.
“What the fuck?!” Chip said. “What the hell is going on with you?” he shouted at him and Peter couldn't help it: he flinched.
The response totally put Peter in shock. He sat there stiffly, his eyes wide.
His phone wasn’t completely shattered; it was salvageable, but the impact on his heart was even more fragile. They both just stared at the remains of the phone. He'd had boyfriends be mean to him before. Yell at him. One of them even slapped him around a little. But he expected better of Chip. His chest ached and his eyes burned.
No one said a word.
And then, out of the silence, they both noticed Johnny standing before them, “Daddy?”
Chip looked embarrassed by his actions, and he scooped his son up and kissed him on the forehead. The poor kid looked traumatized, his large eyes wide, his lower lip trembling.
“I …” Chip started to say, “I’m going to take him ... I think he and I are going to just spend some time alone together today. I’ll take him to school tomorrow. Do you want me to ... ?”
“No, I ... I’m fine. Thank you,” Peter said solemnly. His gaze was drawn back to his busted cell phone. “I better go.”
“Okay, I … talk to you later?” Chip said, his voice so low it sounded like gravel.
Peter just stared at the table in front of him. He couldn’t even look at Chip. He could feel his heart cracking, bleeding inside him. He wanted to cry. He wanted to shout at Chip. But in the end, he couldn't say anything at all.
“Well … bye,” Chip said. There was nothing but silence and the gentle sound of Chip’s footsteps as he took Johnny into the bedroom door and shut it. Peter took that as an invitation to leave.
A tear trailed down Peter’s cheek. Seriously though, Chip’s question was right: what the hell was wrong with him? Why was he being such a cry baby? He’d just met the guy. But then again, he knew why. This was as close as he’d ever gotten to his dream, and the dream was being shattered right before his eyes. It was being torn away from him; or maybe, it had all been a cruel joke, just an illusion of his dream. Maybe the family and job he wanted were things he just wasn't supposed to have.
CHAPTER 7
Peter did whatever he could to keep his mind focused on his students that day, but it was taking every ounce of his effort to focus and fake it as if nothing was wrong. It’s not like the day wasn’t uneventful: half the kids seemed sick, coughing, sneezing, and a handful of them were even vomiting, and he knew he was going to have to make some phone calls to their parents while juggling visits from the school nurse. It was just one of those days when if something could go wrong, it did.
And during it all, Peter couldn’t help but glance at his phone. Or what was left of it. Oh, it was still functioning. But the phone’s screen was cracked and shattered. He was definitely going to have to get it replaced, once he scraped up enough money. But he didn't know when that would be. Tony hadn't set up any appointments for him yet. He wasn't even sure he wanted him to. Now that he had to be exclusive to Tony and his clients, he felt like his fate rested in the hands of Tony. Sure, the massage business had paid the bills and his half of the rent this time, but Peter felt he'd paid a much larger price in the long run. Things he could never get back. Like his shattered, budding relationship with Chip. Or finding his way out of the one with Tony.
“Who’s that?” One of the little girls said to him as she pointed behind him. Who was she talking about? Peter wondered. He got to his feet, feeling exhausted and out of sorts. For a moment, he hoped it was Chip, but when he turned back around to look where the little girl pointed, his hope was dashed.
Wearing a long coat and shuffling outside the door of the classroom was Tony. Peter walked over to him, shocked, and a little alarmed to see him there.
“Honey, go ahead and finish your drawing,” Peter told the little girl as he made his way over to Tony.
He didn’t know what to say or how to feel. Mad and unsettled because he showed up at his workplace, guilty for not answering his messages or calls, or worried that Chip may surprise him too and catch the two of them together. So, instead, he just said, “What? How did you get here?” Peter rubbed a hand over his forehead to fend off a migraine that threatened to ruin his day further.
“Oh, I offered the nurse a few bucks to release me early,” Tony answered. waggling his eyebrows. Peter couldn’t help but crack a crooked smile, and as much as he loathed himself for doing it, he did manage to suppress it a second later. Something about the way the old devil held himself talked to people and conned his way through everything was hilarious. He was such a bastard that it was somehow endearing.
“Are you okay?” Peter asked, concerned. He didn't think Tony should be out of the hospital. In part because he'd just had heart problems, and in part because if Tony was in the hospital, he couldn't find out that he'd been hanging out with Chip against his wishes.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. They gave me some meds and I’ve got another doctor’s visit tomorrow.” Tony answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. His eyes trained steadily on Peter, narrowing under the fluorescents.
“Well, I’m glad,” Peter answered.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Tony said, trying to hide the edge in his voice in front of the children. “I called you a million times.” But the edge was still there, nice and sh
arp. Peter tried not to flinch under the other man's scrutiny.
I know, Peter wanted to say but didn’t. “Sorry, my phone, it … it got busted,” he answered, flashing it in front of him. He showed Tony the scratched and busted screen. Once again, he saw Chip in his mind's eye, hurling the phone at the wall. It made Peter feel very alone and sad.
“Shit, what happened?” Tony said, taking the phone from Peter and looking it over.
“It was stupid. I dropped it.” Peter lied, hoping the kids didn’t hear Tony swear. He was so sick of lying. It made his heart sink.
“From the Empire State Building? Shit!” That second, one of the kindergartners came up to the window with a bloody nose, his eyes wide with alarm.
“Oh, sorry,” Tony said flatly. “Forgot about the kids.”
“Yeah, maybe we can talk after school. It’s not exactly the best time,” Peter said, opening the door and swiftly putting his ever-ready Kleenex under the boy’s nose.
“Now, pinch your nose with this hand and hold the Kleenex with the other one,” Peter instructed gently, “I’ll be back inside to check on it in two minutes!”
The door clicked shut again.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “Not the best time.” He had offended written all over his face but smiled instead, “Like I said, we oughta get you out of this little job. You can make a killing doing what … what we talked about.”
“Yeah, but I love what I do…” Peter said, irritated, but trying to smile through it. If only Tony could just accept him for who he was. But who was he kidding? Tony was only interested in Peter’s body and the role he could fulfill in his narcissistic lifestyle. A trophy. He thought he'd had real respect from Chip, but now he wasn't so certain.
Tony smiled condescendingly. “Sure you do.” Peter knew he wasn't being sincere and it really stung. Rage boiled in his stomach and he clenched his teeth. As Tony began to shuffle off down the corridor, he turned and looked over his shoulder with his wicked grin.
“Hey, swing by my office after work. We have some things to discuss.”
Peter swung the door back open and slammed it shut, so furious and tired of Tony. “Motherfucker,” Peter mumbled to himself, feeling angry and tense. He had nowhere to direct his anger. So, he swallowed it back with a long, heavy sigh, rubbing his temples.
“Ooooh!” the little girl Susie said, appearing out of nowhere. She had been near the trashcan. “You said, ‘motherfucker!’”
Several other kids who actually knew the word stopped what they were doing and gasped. They looked shocked, their little mouths hanging open.
“Susie, don’t say that!” Peter scolded. And that’s when she decided to skip all around the classroom saying, “motherfucker.”
And asking her to stop calmly only made the other kids skip right behind him in a long trail saying, “motherfucker” too.
“What’s mother fupper?” asked another boy.
“Don’t say it again!” Peter said sternly.
“But you said it!” chimed the little girl.
“I ... I shouldn’t have said it. It was an accident,” Peter said, just imagining the phone calls from parents this week as their little darlings shared their newfound word. Peter rubbed his hands over his face as a crowd of children skipped and sing-songed the filthy word over and over again.
“That’s it,” Peter said. He leaned on the intercom button.
“Yes?” the secretary’s voice said. Susie looked up in terror.
“Ms. Landon? Please, tell the principal that I’m sending Susie Manning up to the office for being a disruption.”
Susie looked as if he had shot her dog. Mr. Vanderbilt had never, ever sent anybody to the office before. After all, why would he need to? It was kindergarten.
“Go, Susie,” Peter said sternly.
“But!”
“What did I say?” Peter said, taking a stern page right out of Chip’s fatherhood book.
“But!” the girl blubbered.
“Now,” Peter repeated.
Susie went off bawling to the office, and Peter didn’t care what she said. Who would believe a five-year-old over him? Besides, she had it coming. His class, however, looked a little traumatized from that incident. They were quiet and subdued the rest of the afternoon, half of them sick and nauseous anyway.
With all that quiet, his mind trailed to Chip and his reaction. Chip always seemed like someone calm, cool, and in control, so to see him react like that so dramatically shattered his image of who he thought he was. He checked his phone and hadn’t heard anything from him since this morning. In another hour or two, class would be over. It was just strange. He wondered if he should make the first move. Yes, he had a lot of explaining to do, and he'd started to do so, but then that phone call at breakfast. Tony ruined everything. Peter began to get angry at Chip. He tried to be rational, but he was honestly disappointed.
He was so tired of being disappointed. He'd come so close this time too. He remembered last night, when Chip held him so tenderly. When they'd tucked Johnny in, and it let him pretend that he had a real family. He hadn't felt so alone. All of the stress and worry had melted away in those few, precious moments. And although he was mad at Chip, he couldn't wholly blame him. He was keeping things from him and perhaps he didn't deserve his respect or trust.
The time ticked by slowly. Half the class was now out due to whatever stomach bug that was going around. Peter put them all down for a nap, hoping they'd forget the dirty word he'd slipped up and used in front of them. He needed the break too. He could just feel his blood pressure rise with the stress of the fight with Chip and Tony visiting the school.
While the kids took their naps, Peter leaned back in his chair and pulled his phone out. Still no phone call from Chip. He thought about calling, maybe stepping out in the hall to do so. He didn't want to have to be the first one to make contact. It really was on Chip to call, to apologize. But Peter couldn't take the heartache anymore. He had to talk to him. So he decided to text him. Something casual. He wrote:
- Hey.
But half an hour later there was no response. He tried again.
- Can we talk?
He waited until the end of class, and yet, still no response.
Fucker, Peter thought. So immature.
Maybe he needed some space, maybe … No, Peter was tired of rationalizing what Chip was doing. If this was going to be the way that he responded whenever they had a disagreement, he wondered if Chip was really someone with whom he wanted to be involved. He was beyond disappointed. He was hurt. It felt like being manipulated by the silent treatment he wasn't even so sure he deserved.
Peter was disappointed in his reaction, disappointed in the fact that Chip said that he would always be there for him and that he wouldn’t judge. And disappointed in the fact that Chip had painted this picture of who he was and what he had to offer, with his ideal family, and now he had snatched it back from him. Taken it away before Peter could even make the decision of outing himself to Chip. Telling him the truth. What was the point of it all now?
CHAPTER 8
Peter stewed in resentment as he took the elevator up to Tony’s office. Resentment for Chip. Resentment for Tony. Resentment for himself. His eyes were fixed on the cherry moulding and lime green buttons, the marble floor of the elevator, and the gilt screen on the doors, but they were just another reminder of how much money was involved here - and how little he had. And how powerless that made him, not only before he met Tony, but especially now that we was becoming one of the casino lord’s peasants.
But he had no choice. If he didn't go, he’d never hear the end of it from him. Besides, fuck whatever Chip thought. He wasn’t responding to him anyway, and the more he thought about it, the more it irritated Peter. How was he supposed to reach out to Chip and trust him if Chip was just going to act like this if they had a disagreement? How were they supposed to be close if he pushed him away?
He stepped out of the elevator and took a deep breath as he stroll
ed over the black granite floors and down the hall into the corporate offices. He stopped right before Tony's office and hesitated. He could, he thought, just turn around and go home. Maybe he could stop all of this himself. Disappear off the face of the earth. If Chip wasn’t in his life anymore, and Peter just decided to bail on Tony, what the hell was the worst that could happen anyway? It wasn’t like he was a slave. But he caved and knocked anyway. He didn't want to be alone. Not right now.
“Peter?” he heard Tony’s familiar powerful voice call from his office.
“Yeah,” Peter answered back, trying not to sound quite so glum.
“Come on back,” Tony responded.
“Sure,” Peter said, stepping into the dark rows of empty desks and walking toward the illuminated door he knew led to Tony’s large office suite. He could already smell the leather of the chairs and something else, something enticing and delicious. It made his stomach growl noisily in anticipation.
His heart started to pitter-patter. Why was it whenever he was near Tony, his heart started to race? Peter wondered as he pressed forward. Was it pure physical attraction that he felt towards Tony? Or was it something more? Part of him desired it to be deeper, more emotional. He didn't want to feel as though Tony was just using him, trying to control him. But Peter didn't think that Tony was the type of man who could have a deeper, emotional connection.
And what was it that he wanted to discuss again? Whatever it was, there was no way they were going to fuck. He’d made up his mind. He resented the fact that Tony almost expected it from him whenever they were alone together. But what Peter resented more was the fact that he knew deep inside, he craved it just as much. He yearned for the touch of the older man. The passionate way he took Peter, and how he was always in control. That raw aggression. Even the knowledge of how much of a bastard he was: there was no denying how sexy it was.
