From Morocco to Paris

by Lydia Nyx

  Ian, who followed them, stopped Davey before he reached the desk. “I’ll carry those since you’re feeling ill.”

  Davey seemed about to protest but then closed his mouth and smiled faintly. Dark circles hung under his eyes. Zane figured he probably didn’t look much better, despite being healthy. He’d had enough of traveling.

  At the checkin desk, Zane thankfully found no problem with their reservations. Saul promised he would secure everything for the crew, but Zane knew from previous experiences on movies to always prepare for a glitch. The woman behind the desk kept glancing discreetly at Elliot but said nothing.

  The room they put Zane in had red carpet and cream-colored walls. Two windows looked out on the craggy, gray Paris skyline. The bed, covered with a red spread, sat beneath a curtain canopy. A sunburst mirror hung on the wall above the bed, the style making Zane think of Morocco. He dropped his bags and sprawled on the mattress on his stomach.

  “Civilization, how I’ve missed you.” He ran his fingers over the bedspread. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

  “This is fancy,” Ian said. “Saul spoils you.”

  Zane rolled over and gazed up at the canopy, the afternoon light filtering yellow through the gauzy fabric.

  “Live my life for the past couple months and see if you need some spoiling,” Zane said.

  Ian walked over to the bed. “I hope Davey is all right,” he said. They had dropped him off at his room down the hallway.

  “He’s just got a stomach bug. Actually, it’s probably from the food. Some days in Africa I spent more time on the toilet than doing my job.” Zane sat up on his elbow. “Ian. You’re going to have to get over him.”

  “I am, Zane. He’s all yours.”

  “I’m not saying that out of jealousy. I’m just trying to save you some heartache.”

  “Zane, I’m over him.” Ian turned away. “I was sexually attracted to him. That doesn’t denote infatuation.”

  “Oh, really? Why were you carrying his bags then? What’s all this worrying about him?”

  “He’s sick!” Ian turned back around. “I think you should go fuss over him, personally. It’s your place, after all.”

  “We’re not boyfriends.” Zane sat up and scooted off the bed. “We’re not going to get into labeling things again. And I will go check on him, after he gets settled in.”

  Zane called Elliot. Elliot told him Saul wanted him to rest up and study his lines for shooting the next day, so Zane had the night off. Ian told Zane he’d come back and go to dinner with him, since he had a room in another, more economic hotel and needed to go change. After Ian left, Zane unpacked, changed into some fresh clothes, and went down the hallway to visit Davey.

  Davey wore one of the white complimentary hotel robes, his hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Figured it would be easier this way, since I don’t have you to hold it back,” he explained, leading Zane inside. His room looked much like Zane’s, down to the colors.

  Zane could only imagine what Ian would say about him holding Davey’s hair back while he puked: surely such an act signaled great love and adoration, though Zane just considered the gesture payback. Davey had nursed him more than once while germs and bad food ravaged his intestines.

  “Still feel like blowing chunks?” Zane asked.

  Davey stood next to the bed, covers turned down, the television on across the room.

  “It’s clear you’ve been around Ian again,” he said. “You sound like a redneck.”

  Zane chuckled and kneaded Davey’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. Are you still feeling a mite under the weather, good sir?”

  “No, I feel like shit.” Davey rolled his head and sighed. “Why don’t you do that on the bed? I don’t feel like standing up anymore.”

  Davey sat on the bed facing the television, and Zane sat behind him, rubbing. Though only mid-afternoon, Zane wanted to curl up and go to sleep.

  “Fucking five-hour flights,” Zane murmured, pushing his thumbs gently into Davey’s shoulders through the terrycloth robe. “They take it out of you.”

  “Wasn’t quite five hours,” Davey said. “We should take a nap. We both need one.”

  They lay down together and Davey put his head on Zane’s shoulder — Zane figured if Davey had a virus he would get sick anyway, just being around him. His hair brushed against Zane’s cheek, smelling like shampoo. Zane considered how cozy they were getting and how the notion should have alarmed him more.

  “I talked to Elliot,” Zane said. “He doesn’t need me tonight.”

  “Mm,” Davey answered.

  Zane set the alarm on his cell phone, and they slept until it went off at six o’clock. Davey said he felt better after sleeping and decided to join Ian and Zane for dinner.

  They all dressed nicely and went to a fancy restaurant — though Zane couldn’t imagine anything in Paris not being fancy — with flower-patterned wallpaper, hanging lamps, drapes over glass partitions between tables, and gleaming oak everywhere. Zane didn’t see any other members of the crew there, despite the restaurant being close to the hotel. He figured they were all smart and went to bed early.

  “I have something for you,” Ian said to Zane. He pulled a large manila envelope out of his bag and put it on the table. “I ran into Saul earlier, and he asked me to give it to you.”

  “You’re chatting with Saul now?”

  “Please.” Ian took a sip of his wine. “I’ve slept with more directors than a porn star.”

  “Don’t sleep with Saul, all right?” Zane asked. He picked up the envelope, heart thudding. He had an idea what might be inside.

  Davey watched, sipping soup from a spoon. He looked a little better, the blue sweater he wore setting off his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked Zane.

  Zane looked over the papers he’d pulled out. “It’s information on the movie Saul told me about. And the director I’ll be working with.” He shot Davey a look. “If he takes me on, that is.”

  Davey put down his spoon and picked up his napkin. “I’m happy for you.”

  “I’m happy for me,” Zane said. He flipped through the stapled pages. A sense of impending finality seemed to creep out of the envelope as well. “Only a month left on this production…”

  “Yeah,” Davey said dully. “Cristiano offered me a spot in his design agency in Milan. I’m considering it, but I don’t know. Troy and I have been working on our own line. He’s been trying to get us sponsorship. I can’t wait until he gets here.”

  “Who’s Troy?” Ian asked.

  “My best friend,” Davey said. “He’s coming for a week. He’ll be here Tuesday.”

  “Oh? Is he as gorgeous as you?” Ian asked.

  Zane scowled at Ian, tucking the papers back in the envelope.

  “I don’t know,” Davey said, picking up his spoon again. “He’s my best friend. I don’t choose my friends for their looks.”

  “So? You can gauge if the people around you are good looking,” Ian said.

  “Do you think Zane is good-looking?”

  “I think he fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

  Davey paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Still,” Ian went on, “he gets a lot of ass. So I’d say yes, he’s good-looking.”

  “So I should judge Troy’s appearance by how often he gets laid?”

  “Sure. I think that’s an accurate barometer. Does he get a lot of girls?” Ian leaned toward Davey with a coy smile. “Or guys?”

  “Ooh, do you smell that?” Zane waved a hand. “Smells like desperation.”

  “It’s the salmon actually,” Ian said. “It doesn’t agree with me.”

  Davey dropped his spoon in the bowl and picked up his napkin. “I see you can take the boys out of the outhouse, but you can’t take the outhouse out of the boys, can you? We’re only in a four star restaurant.”

  “Is he as adventurous as you or not?” Ian asked and turned bac
k to his food, clearly ignoring Davey’s admonishment.

  “I don’t know.” Davey shrugged and took a drink of his water. “I think he’s straight.” His voice sounded hollow inside the glass. “I mean, he knows I’m not, but he’s never gone out looking for guys with me or anything.”

  Zane paused in cutting up his chicken. “He knows you’re bi?”

  Davey put the glass down, sucking water from his lower lip. He arched an eyebrow at Zane. “I slept with his brother.”

  This made Zane a little uneasy. While he’d gotten more comfortable with Davey, he wasn’t ready for everyone else to know. He liked their situation in the safe confines of the little box they’d created around themselves. Within the box he could be himself — outside, things weren’t as easy.

  “Anyway,” Davey said. “Hit on him, Ian. He’ll either say yes or punch you in the mouth.”

  “I’m not sure which would be sexier.”

  After dinner, Ian went back to his hotel and Zane and Davey to theirs. They sat downstairs in the lounge, a room decorated in red and gold and full of plump, plush furniture. Zane sat on a couch next to Davey, lost in his thoughts, stroking a finger idly over the ripped edge of the envelope on his lap.

  “So,” Davey said softly, “will you miss me?”

  Zane looked over at him. Davey had a glass of soda water from the little snack bar across the room, the closest thing they had to ginger ale.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because.” Davey’s gaze fell on the envelope. “You’re pretty excited about moving on. But then you did explain how it works, back in Cairo.” He took a sip, gazing at Zane over the rim of the glass.

  Zane considered how to answer. He could say something sarcastic or sentimental — instead, he decided to be honest.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

  “All right.”

  They sat in silence for a while, Zane staring out the window next to them, Davey sipping his drink. Davey had his legs crossed, and he brushed his foot against Zane’s calf. They were alone in the lounge and Zane didn’t mind.

  “Thank you,” Davey finally said, drawing Zane’s attention from the window. “For the plane. Everything you did for me.”

  “You would have done it for me,” Zane said. “Wanna go back upstairs and lay down?”

  “I think so. Stay with me?”

  “I could be persuaded.”

  Davey ordered a wake-up call, but Zane set the alarm on his phone as well, because he had a habit of saying “uh huh” to the person giving the wake-up call and then going back to sleep.

  About twenty minutes after they settled down, Davey got up and rushed to the bathroom. Apparently, soup and soda weren’t a good idea. Zane found a rag and wiped Davey’s mouth and face after he got done puking, then led him back to bed.

  “It’s my turn to be the nursemaid,” he said as he slid in next to Davey and tucked him in. “Thankfully there’s no gauze involved.”

  “Tell me a story,” Davey said weakly as he wedged himself into the crook of Zane’s arm.

  Zane snorted.

  “I mean it,” Davey said. “I wanna hear a story.”

  “I don’t know any stories.”

  “You’re a hillbilly who works in the movie business. How do you not know any stories? Make something up.”

  Zane tried to think of a story. He lay half-propped on the pillows, Davey snuggled against him.

  “All right, but it’ll be stupid.”

  “Of course it will. I don’t care.”

  “Thanks for your confidence.”

  “Just tell the story.”

  “All right.” Zane settled himself down, getting comfortable. “Once upon a time, there was this…this prince, but he was a fucking disgrace to his royal name. He was a total drunk and a womanizer. He got around all over the place.”

  “Oh, I know him,” Davey murmured.

  “Yes. He had a good heart, but it wasn’t always in the right place. Then one day, he met this — gypsy. Real smooth talker, could sell you a line of bullshit just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “He had a sharp tongue, real sassy. Knew what he wanted and was merciless until he got it.”

  Davey let out a gust of air. “I know where this is going.”

  Zane patted Davey’s forehead. “One day he and the prince met, at this play, put on by this big time playwright. They got hot for each other and ended up having all kinds of kinky sex.”

  “Describe the sex,” Davey murmured. “That’s the best part.”

  “I’m not gonna describe the sex. It’s enough to know there were lots of blowjobs, and hand jobs, and some anal. It was really hot.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the gypsy asked the prince if he was so unhappy putting on a front for all the people, why didn’t he just quit it? Just be what he was in his heart, forget the trappings of his princely life. And the prince told him it wasn’t that easy, you couldn’t just stop being a stately prince in one day, but the gypsy didn’t listen. He never listened.”

  Zane paused. Davey didn’t say anything. His body had slowly gone slack.

  “But still,” Zane went on, not sure if Davey had fallen asleep, “they had some good times together. That was the important part. They went to many lands together. To beaches, and deserts, and then a big city full of lights. They had many wonderful and not so wonderful adventures. One time the gypsy even whacked the prince in the face with a tray when the prince was just trying to make a beautiful, tender gesture.”

  Davey’s breathing had grown soft and shallow. Zane stroked his hair. He lowered his voice, “Then came the day they had to say goodbye. The prince had to go live his dreams, and the gypsy had to chase his own desires. It was sad, but they carried with them in their hearts all the wonderful things they’d shared together. And of course they wrote lots of emails and dropped in to see each other every once in a while.”

  Zane stopped stroking Davey’s hair and peeked down at his face. His eyes were closed, and his face in repose. Zane dropped his head back against the pillow and gazed up at the ceiling. He started stroking his hair again, gently, with two fingers. He spoke softly.

  “But the prince never, ever got over him, hard as he tried.”

  Chapter 19

  “Aren’t you upset Davey’s best friend is coming?”

  Zane and Ian sat in a café near the hotel, having breakfast. On the table next to Zane, a local entertainment paper lay open, most of the articles written in French. Zane didn’t need English, however, to see page two sported a huge picture of Elliot, in full costume, during shooting the day before near Champs-Elysees. Zane hovered in the background of the shot.

  “Why would I be upset that Troy is coming?” Zane asked.

  “You’ve only got a month left with Davey. Do you really want to spare a week of it to someone else?”

  Zane studied the picture, a bad shot of Elliot and an even worse shot of him, huddled in his coat, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed with boredom. Ian, who spoke some French, told him underneath the picture the tag said, “Elliot Butler in Paris, working on Saul Brennan’s new epic.” Zane would show the picture to Elliot, let him get a laugh, then file the article in his binder.

  “It’s not like he’s leaving,” Zane said. He folded up the paper and went back to his coffee and eggs. “And it’s not like we won’t be hanging out still.”

  “But his friend will be there, all the time.” Ian’s expression made Zane uncomfortable. He looked like their father when he got all ominous.

  “You’re here. All the time.” Zane took a sip of his coffee.

  “Yes, but I know about you. You’re going to regret it if you waste one minute with him.”

  “Listen.” Zane put his cup down, a bit harder than necessary. “You’ve never meddled in my love life before. Why are you doing it now?”

  “You’ve never been with a guy before. It’s my area of expertise.”

  “I’m going to tell you this one time,” Zane said. The pi
cture, the early morning, and the never-ending nagging had finally stretched his nerves to the breaking point. “He is not my boyfriend, we’re not having some grand, majestic love affair, and we sure as hell aren’t making wedding plans. Stop trying to give me advice!”

  “Just like you,” Ian said and shook his head. “You don’t even know what you have. You’re still worried Dad’s going to come around the corner with his belt.”

  “This isn’t about Dad! This is about people who need to mind their own goddamn business!”

  Ian leaned across the table. “If someone doesn’t step in you’re going to fuck it up. Do you know how many people would kill for a guy like Davey in their lives?”

  “I know of at least one.”

  Zane took a swift drink of his coffee and snatched up the paper.

  “Oh yes, turn it around on me!” Ian’s voice rose as Zane stood up. “I guess you’ve forgotten about sobbing like a fucking baby on my shoulder in Cairo!”

  “I’m not like you!” Zane yelled. People looked their way and Zane lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “I’m not.”

  “Not ‘like me?’” Ian curled his upper lip, which made him look even more like their father. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I can’t go around showing it off to the world and not giving a fuck. The way you do. The way Davey does!” Zane pushed his chair in roughly. “Maybe the two of you should get together.”

  “I would love to! He deserves someone who’ll treat him right. But he obviously fucking loves you, so there’s no accounting for taste!”

  Zane stalked out of the café and marched back to the hotel. Crossing the street, he clenched the paper so tightly he heard it rip. Deep in his heart, he knew Ian was right and that made him even angrier. Still, he couldn’t deprogram a lifetime of negative values overnight. The thought of making his relationship with Davey public caused his skin to crawl and brought the anguish of his formative years racing to the front of his mind.

  In the lobby of the hotel, Zane ran into Cristiano. They both stopped, staring at each other. Cristiano wore jeans and a dark blue sweater under a trim black coat, a duffel bag over his shoulder. He looked tired. And upset.