Ramón smiled. "It's OK, dude. I just wish we'd met you earlier in the week."
"Us, too. Thanks for the party," said Jeremy as they pushed themselves up from the bed. "We've gotta go find Ellie and say bye. We'll get your e-mail from her, for Christmas. OK?"
* * *
The door of their suite had barely clicked shut before they shed their clothes and jumped onto the bed.
"My ass feels like a tour bus drove through it this morning, thanks to you." Carlo giggled. "But my hands feel strong enough to...milk a bull." He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the small plastic bottle, and then dribbled its contents on Jeremy.
"Are you gonna give me what I love?" Jeremy asked, locking his hands behind his head.
"Don't talk...just think of Ramón getting plowed by all those guys on the beach."
Carlo sat back on his heels and began massaging the slippery liquid over him. "I love how big it gets when I do this," he whispered. "It's like a magic wand."
"And I'm the wizard who gets to--ohhh," Jeremy moaned.
"Gets to do what?" Carlo asked him devilishly as he tightened his grip. "Grant wishes with it?" He began stroking him lightly, teasingly. "I love playing with my beautiful wizard," he whispered. "I love making him feel so good."
He saw that Jeremy's eyes were rolled back into his head and his breathing had quickened.
Then Jeremy's eyes popped open. "Mmm, oh, oh, oh, oh!" He held his breath and Carlo squeezed him. Then after he knew the moment had passed Carlo continued caressing him until he saw that there was no use holding him back.
His mouth on mine, his chest against mine, my cock, his cock--"Huh!" The first eruption hit Carlo on the forehead.
"Uh!" The second splattered his chin.
"Ho." The third landed on his chest.
"Mm," Jeremy murmured as the rest puddled onto his abs and Carlo's milking slowed.
"That's one wish," Carlo murmured as he watched the last drops ooze. Then he stretched himself alongside Jeremy.
And they kissed as Carlo's hand moved faster.
And Jeremy's fingers probed deeper and his tongue pushed farther into his mouth.
And he clenched his belly while he swam in love.
And his toes pointed at the wall.
And Carlo released one-two-three white strings onto his torso.
Then all was still.
"Wish number two fulfilled," Carlo panted, at last. "And I've only got one left."
"Why don't you just wish for three more wishes?" Jeremy whispered, grinning and waving his dick in the air. "I think there's still some magic left in it."
Carlo fell back onto his pillow. "Everyone knows that's illegal," he said, examining the ceiling. "Let's see. For my last wish, I'd like"--he put a finger to his chin--
"yeah, I'm not telling you."
"Come on," he groaned.
"You know the rules. But I'll let you know when it comes true."
Within moments their breathing had calmed and Jeremy's eyes were drooping, so Carlo jumped up to retrieve a washcloth from the bathroom. After he'd wiped them both dry he collapsed back onto the sheets and let the tropical breezes dancing in through the open lanai doors spin them off to sleep.
* * *
Jeremy's cell phone woke them sometime later.
"Jeremy, dear?" Her voice beckoned from across the ocean.
"Hi, Aunt Katharine," he answered groggily. "How are you?"
"I'm doing wonderfully now, thanks to you," she said. "I'm so pleased to hear that you boys are going to Brazil with Arthur--although I must say I'm going to lose my mind here all by myself."
"We're only gonna be gone a few days. But maybe you can go to that spa you like in Palm Springs until we get back."
"That's a wonderful idea! I'll call them right away. When do you come home, then?"
"Our flight comes into LAX at about two; Arthur's picking us up."
"Wonderful. Maybe on the way home you can ask what's on his mind."
"What do you mean?"
"It's hard to say. It's just that...something's up with him. He's not being himself at all--just moons around the house, barely goes out except for groceries and errands."
"Maybe something happened with his mom."
"Perhaps...oh, and before I forget, the minute you get home there are some documents I've put together that I'd like you to study before you leave; they aren't terribly complicated--really just a series of thumbnails for things you should look for. And I have some exciting news about the resort."
"Uh-huh?"
"Our investment consortium has just partnered with a Canadian company that is on the verge of developing the world's first airline with guaranteed security."
"That sounds impossible," he told her flatly.
"I know it does, my dear. I was just as skeptical."
"How can they say something like that?"
" Technology," she told him, as if she had just coined the word herself. "They have technology that can practically read your mind. I'll fill you in on the details when you arrive. But just imagine: the world's only airline to provide guaranteed security whisking you off to the world's safest resort. The commercial possibilities are astounding!"
"It sounds great." Carlo had just awakened and was leaning over, nuzzling his neck. "So I'll see you tomorrow, sometime after, uh, four?"
"I am so looking forward to seeing you. I'll even have Arthur whip up some of that ghastly macaroni and cheese of which you're so fond." She laughed.
He laughed as well. "Thanks, Aunt Katharine. See you then. Love you."
"And I love you, Jeremy. Good-bye."
He switched off his phone.
And as his mouth joined Carlo's, he thought, What's wrong with Arthur?
Chapter 10
Nothing on the Internet or television held any interest for him, and he was almost caught up on his work, including everything on his list to get ready for their trip, so he decided to play hooky and walk along the beach, where the crashing waves usually lightened his black moods.
September's morning fog had cleared, and from his French doors the sky looked intoxicatingly azure, so he pulled on some cargo shorts and his extra-comfy Tshirt--the blue one with the cutoff sleeves and the Human Rights Campaign logo on it. Then after he laced up his running shoes, he turned to examine his reflection in the beveled mirror doors of the armoire in the corner.
He decided, after a studied glance, that he looked younger than his thirty-nine years, thanks to his morning regimen of three hundred crunches and two hundred push-ups, and his meditative late-afternoon jogs. But there was no denying that his physical self was changing; whereas millennia ago, the emperor Hadrian might have snatched up someone who looked as he did twenty years ago to model for statues of poor, doomed Antinous, he was now better suited to sculptures resembling Hadrian's Lansdowne Herakles.
Still pretty damn hot, just...older.
Since Katharine was at a meeting with her attorneys, he grabbed his keys and then trotted out the side doors, which he locked behind him. While crossing the property, he checked the water level in the drizzling Florentine fountain (it had developed a leak recently), noticed that the rose bushes needed cutting back, and began his descent on the newly installed steel stairs that zigzagged down to the hefty, spring-loaded security door.
His steps were heavy in the sand, so he began to jog. After moments of loping, he broke into a dead run--his legs sprinted and his arms pumped and he forced the air into his lungs, and his heart beat as if he were being chased by a flock of bat-winged Harpies--because he knew that if he punished his body, his adrenal glands would pour him a much needed shot of antidepressant.
But as La-Z-Boy rock drew closer, he realized that even if he ran a marathon it wouldn't make a difference.
Because the voices that normally whispered his life's deficiencies were yelling lately, and he was no longer able to invent excuses with which to silence them.
He reached the rock and sat, elbows to knees,
panting.
God, I'm sad.
He knew that part of his depression was due to Jeremy's absence, because since the boy's arrival at the compound a year ago they had been inseparable. The reason for this, at least in the beginning, was because he'd tried to be a good role model for him; for the more Arthur got to know him, the worse he felt about his having navigated the road to manhood by himself: learning how to shave without slicing open a zit, how to move your shoulders when you walk, how to butch it up with other guys and how to jack off quietly, so your mom doesn't hear you. And then, as the shroud covering Jeremy's heart fell away and he began revealing his longings and his fascinations and his frustrations and his dreams, Arthur found himself confronting something wholly unexpected:
Love.
So he'd been relieved when Carlo materialized, as the kid had a strong, level head and was as smitten with Jeremy as he was unapologetically queer. Arthur liked him, although he was sometimes abrasive, because you could always count on him to be authentic: He wore his heart on his sleeve, even after Jeremy did something to bloody his cuffs.
Thus, he learned to be content watching Jeremy bloom, from a few steps back.
But it wasn't always easy...
Such as when he appeared at Arthur's quarters sporting nothing but boxer shorts and his newly minted swimmer's build. He'd smiled blandly into those glittering dark eyes and dutifully handed over Jeremy's basket of folded laundry.
Then there was the night he was standing at the butcher block dicing onions, and his shoulders were killing him so he reached back to smooth the knot, completely unaware that Jeremy had padded up behind him until he felt strong hands squeeze the tension from his shoulders. He'd nearly cried because no one had done that for him in years, but when he felt the heat from the young man's body and smelled the chlorine and musk rising up from his skin, he'd pulled away with a polite "thanks."
The young man's scent lingered in his nostrils even after dinner was eaten.
Then, just before the boys left for Hawaii, Arthur was vacuuming upstairs when he heard splashing in the pool. He looked down and saw Jeremy practicing his backstroke, so he switched off the machine and watched, spellbound, as his strong arms windmilled and his torso twisted and his sculpted legs churned the water. But then he reasoned that maybe it wasn't Jeremy, exactly, that was making his heart beat faster...but rather the memory of another, much like him, who'd made his heart thunder years ago.
He leaned back on the rock, feeling the hot granite pushing into his shoulders and skull, as the sun beating down on his closed eyelids colored his world tomato orange.
* * *
"What's wrong?"
Jonathan's lips made a line. "I think she knows."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure...I could be wrong."
"But why do you think--"
"My stuff--you know those Mandate magazines I keep in my bottom drawer, tucked inside those Motor Trends? I came home last night and went for them and they were--I don't know-- different."
"Is that all?" Arthur laughed. "Maybe you just shoved 'em back wrong."
"No. She was in a real pissy mood this morning. Real cold, like Nancy Reagan.
And she started grilling me about what girl I'm dating, and when I told her nobody, she wanted to know why."
"Shit." Arthur looked down at the sand. "That's why I don't keep any of that stuff in my place. If my dad ever found anything like that, he'd cut my balls off."
"She might not let us be together anymore," he muttered, "even as friends."
"Just because she might know about you doesn't mean she knows about us."
He sighed. "You're right. I just figured that if she thought I was gay and you spend a lot of time here, she'd put it together. You know?"
"Yeah," he agreed, tracking the big white schooner in full sail slicing through the waves offshore. "And if she did, what would you do?"
"I don't know," he said. "I don't think I could be honest."
"Why not?"
"Because she wants me to be this Kennedy, or something." He got up from the rock and started trudging through the sand toward the edge of the water. "You know, yachts and royalty," he yelled, gesticulating wildly, "and a Ralph Lauren model–
looking wife and politics and shit. I mean, she pretends like she's this lady who's really cool, with her fund-raising and all, but she's really just uptight...wants everything to be so fucking picture perfect, and me being a fag isn't something she's gonna brag about to her country club friends."
"Do you really think so?" Arthur got up and went over to him.
"You don't know her, Artie." Jonathan laughed. "She thinks gay guys are OK, as long as they're dyeing her hair or...dying of AIDS. She's like those parents who think they're all liberal and shit watching PBS, but then their daughter brings a black guy home and suddenly it's like, The cultural differences are too great... "
"Wow. I never took her for that kind of person. What about your uncle?"
"That fucker doesn't care about anything but our money. He can go fuck himself."
Arthur thought for a moment. "So are you going to wait until she says something to you? or are you gonna come out?"
"No way, man. There's no way I'm sayin' anything to her. And if she asks me I'll deny it."
"But what about after high school? You can't hide it forever."
"After I get into college, maybe. Then when I turn twenty-one my trust'll be mine, so I won't have to worry about her, or asshole Bill."
"Is that what you're worried about?" Arthur laughed. "You think she'll take your money away if you're gay?"
Jonathan didn't answer, he just looked out to the horizon.
"Is that really it?" Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.
"I wish my parents hadn't died." Jonathan covered Arthur's hand with his own.
"There'd be no way they'd treat me like this. They'd love me whether I was gay or not."
"Your aunt loves you. You know that."
"She loves what she wants me to be," he said. "She holds a lot over my head, you know. It's like she blackmails me all the time with Be perfect, or else."
"It's pretty much up to you if you let her."
"But it's a lot of money, Artie. A lot. And she's paying for college; then she's putting me on the board of Tyler, Inc., when I finish school."
"How much is a lot of money?"
He crossed his arms. "I'm not allowed to tell anyone."
"It doesn't matter to me." Arthur wrapped his arms around Jonathan's waist. "I'd love you even if you were as poor as me."
* * *
Arthur made his way back through the sand toward the stairway, then fitted his key into the lock of the security door. Just as he crested the final stair's riser he saw her, in one of those dozen St. John suits she wore to meetings, as she exited the kitchen and looked around.
"Arthur?" she called out, waving.
He fixed a smile and quickened his step.
"May I bother you for a moment?" she asked as they drew closer together. "I've just come back from the attorneys', and I'd like to share our plan with you. May we talk in the conservatory?"
He held out his hand. "After you."
They walked together across the flagstone toward the glass-paned pavilion that hugged the west wing. Then he pulled open the door and followed her inside.
She folded herself down on to her padded toile chaise, while he lowered himself into a decrepit wicker chair that crickled loudly under him.
She slipped on her reading glasses and examined some papers. "Let me say that I very much appreciate your taking Jeremy down there. I would have been ill prepared to do so myself, and I cannot see this project going any further without your assistance. For that, I am in your debt."
He smiled. "Don't worry about it. I'm happy to go, and I haven't had a vacation since before Danny died, so I'm overdue. Thanks for paying my way."
"You're too modest," she told him. "In any case, I've just met with the attorneys, and
they've drawn up papers for a spectacular lawsuit in the event that you suspect fraud of any sort."
He shifted forward in his seat, and the chair creaked ominously. "And what should I do if I see anything when we're there?"
"You'll cut short your trip; then we'll assemble a crew to travel there and conduct a predatory examination of their construction, as well as an audit of their books."
"But why don't you just send your henchmen there first, instead?"
She smiled. "Doing so would paint us as suspicious, and a bit paranoid."
"Why?"
She pulled off her glasses. "Since my late husband was Dom Fabiano's partner, he's been insistent about
conducting business with only a member of our immediate family--"
"Which is extremely dangerous, considering the potential for kidnapping--"
She nodded and held up her hand. "I understand your caveat, Arthur. Believe me, I do. Just think of this little vacation as...a four-day mission of goodwill, and nothing more. Our international business relations speak highly of this man, and they assure me that the potential for return on our investment is tremendous." She smiled, he thought a bit smugly. "And please understand that Jeremy is my only remaining blood, and I consider you to be a lifelong friend of ours, as well as his protector; if I thought either of you would be in harm's way I would never have agreed to send you two."
"Or Carlo," he added.
"Yes, of course," she agreed, nodding. "Nothing must happen to him, either."
He felt uneasy. Clearly she had no concept of the dangerous nature of the people they might encounter, or the political instability of the region. According to his research, if they returned home without incident it would be a small miracle. He would just have to throw his protective net around Jeremy and Carlo, and be hypervigilant. Only the knowledge that Dom Fabiano was gay made him believe they had a chance, as one seldom double-crossed a member of their sacred band.
Unless they double-crossed you first.
"I'll do my very best," he told her, then stood.
"I know you will." She shifted her attention back to her papers. "Is there anything else you need?" he asked from the doorway. She looked up. "Some tea? I'd love some tea."
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