Jeremy felt like a celebrity.
He was handed off to a strongly built manservant, who led him to his own quarters.
Then the young man directed him into an immense bathroom veneered in white marble, where a steaming bubble bath awaited him in a sunken tub overlooking Rio, and its glorious sunlit splendor.
" Por favor," the servant instructed, while motioning to the snowy bubbles. So he pulled off his T-shirt and dropped his pants and boxers into a heap on the floor, then descended the steps into the tub, where he slid his exhausted, aching frame into the gardenia-scented bubbles.
Once submerged to his chin, he closed his eyes and sighed.
The young man vanished, but reappeared moments later with a tray laden with food and drink, which he placed on the floor beside the tub.
Jeremy was ravenous. So, he grabbed a fork and started stabbing at the assortment of pastries, eggs, potatoes and fried tomatoes topped with crème fraîche. He also poured himself a cup of coffee, but then decided against drinking it, as he was more interested in sleeping than in feeling perky.
He'd nearly finished his breakfast when the door to his quarters squeaked open, and he heard heavy footfalls approaching.
Fabiano's silhouette towered over him.
"How is your breakfast?" he asked. "Is it to your liking?"
He nodded enthusiastically, his mouth jammed full with hot buttered croissant. "It's great...thank you."
"And the bath, not too hot or cold?"
"Great, yeah."
"And this boy, is he to your liking?" he asked, as he eased his huge frame down onto a nearby marble bench.
"He's been real nice. Thanks for him, too."
A sly smile spread upon Fabio's face. " Tire a roupa," he rattled to the boy. " Faz o que ele quer."
The boy lowered his eyes and took off his shirt, revealing a very smooth, very brown and very muscular torso.
"He is beautiful, yes?"
Jeremy looked up, then away. "Yeah, he's pretty hot."
" Qual e o seu problema? " Fabiano asked, and the boy, very obediently, slid off his pants. He then stood naked in front of Jeremy, fiddling with himself in an obvious attempt to achieve an erection, while grinning lasciviously. " Vire-se," Fabiano ordered, and the boy turned around and bent over, displaying his perfectly molded buttocks.
"Hey, no," Jeremy said, waving his hands in the air, although he felt himself becoming aroused. "Really, that's OK."
Where do I know him from?
Fabiano frowned. "If he is not to your liking, I can get for you something different.
Do you want older or younger? Darker or lighter? More African or European?" He paused, waiting for an answer that did not come. "My wish is for you," he continued finally, "my young friend, to relax and enjoy yourself, and to feel released. You are my very special guest today, and you have been through hell."
Jeremy blinked at him, trying to think of what to say without offending the man who had just saved his life. "I'm not like that," he said at last.
"You say you do not like beautiful boys?" Fabiano asked, laughing.
"I like... men. I mean, I like my man, Carlo. He's meu amor. I don't want to play with anyone else." He was suddenly very aware that he was naked, and the bubbles were starting to disintegrate--while his clothes were across the room.
The man chuckled. "But what about Dom Arthur? You like to play with him, too."
His eyes shifted. "No, I..."
"But we saw you. on the beach. on the security cameras. You and Dom Arthur, you--" And he began masturbating the air with his fist, laughing. "You've forgotten that our wonderful island is wired like a big computer. We even have a video of your encounter, should you like to view it tonight by yourself."
Jeremy felt himself blush.
"Oh, I see," he said, condescendingly. "Your Carlo, he does not yet know about you and Arthur." He slapped his knees. "Do not worry. I won't say a thing; you've all been through so much, and a broken heart for someone so young might never be repaired."
"Thanks for not saying anything."
He shrugged. "It is none of my business anyway. You are all grown men," he said, and then made his hand into a fist, which he held up. "And you, Jeremy, my friend, you are very well grown." He stood and turned to leave. "Please, after you've rested and dressed, come out to the patio, where we can finish our business before your stay here is over." Then he turned to leave, and smacked the manservant hard on the ass as the boy was bent over and pulling up his pants.
The slap left a scarlet imprint of el Gigante's hand.
Then the boy, tray in hand, trotted out behind him.
After languishing--nervously--for a few more minutes in the steaming water, Jeremy dried himself and slipped on a bathrobe; then after making certain the door to his room was locked, he dropped his robe and slid naked between the covers.
His mind was racing, turning, twisting, stalling. He hugged his pillow and squeezed shut his eyes.
He loved Carlo--of this there was no question; he was almost as important in making him into a proud gay man as Arthur had been. But there was something missing in their relationship, and he hadn't the experience or the words to understand it--he only knew he often became annoyed with him, and at other times was flat-out bored. And even though this was the first "relationship" of his life, he knew it wasn't a good sign to feel these emotions after only six months. But at least their sex was still hot--he loved the feeling of Carlo's hot skin, and of their hungry kisses and sweaty, sticky love sessions.
But Carlo was girly sometimes, and he complained a lot. And it seemed as though anytime Jeremy tried to bring up anything that bugged him about their relationship, Carlo got completely defensive and sulked, or tried to shut him up.
But Arthur...Arthur thrilled him. The width of his shoulders, the musk of his skin; the armor of his chest, and the dolphin gray of his eyes. He loved his broad grin...his deep baritone...those friendly crow's-feet and the sparkling silver flecks in his hair. But he'd never before told anyone how he felt; his attraction to Arthur had been his little secret, just as a year ago his attraction to men had been just as closely guarded.
Maybe it had to do with how much like a father Arthur had been to him, because he certainly felt that, like a good father, Arthur would never leave or hurt him, and would always treat him with complete and utter consideration.
So he would do the same. He'd buy Arthur things: a new car--like that black Jaguar convertible he'd recently pointed out as they waited at a stoplight, and then mentioned again two days ago at the beach. And he'd buy a boat like the red and white one they took to the cove; they'd take it to Catalina for the day--maybe a week--then maybe cruise down to San Diego or up to Santa Barbara. Maybe they'd move out of Katharine's stuffy mansion and buy a place of their own...a place like the one from that party in Hawai'i...down the beach in Malibu, where the young celebrities partied. They'd get a dog and have friends over, and every night they'd fall asleep together in their beach house with the waves crashing outside and the fireplace flickering and their legs entwined knowing they had all the love and money that anyone would ever need.
We'll live happily ever after.
It was what he wanted--now that he knew Arthur felt the same way about him.
And as he began to nod off, a single question drifted up into his consciousness, like a road sign materializing through a shroud of fog:
How'm I gonna break up with Carlo?
Chapter 39
"What do you mean it's not acceptable ?" Katharine screamed into the phone. "I understand it is not what's been demanded, but it is still a hugesum of money! Even you should understand there are limits to what an individual can do without any aid from their godforsaken government!"
"Of course I understand. I am only the negotiator, as you will recall."
She caught her breath, remembering their calls were being recorded. "I know that,"
she stated flatly.
Fabiano was silent for a moment. "W
e're doing the best we can," he told her at last.
"We've tried to assure them that this is as much as you are capable of raising, especially in light of their unreasonable deadline, but they are holding fast to their request; I'm afraid that because they had access to some of your financial records, they are...aware of the Tyler family's worth."
"But that's tied up in real estate, futures, and other long-term investments. It would take months to liquidate the amount they're demanding, especially in this economy!"
"I understand, Senhora Tyler, really I do." He raised the cigarette to his lips and sucked on it. "And I suppose I am somewhat to blame for this, having disclosed the quantity of your financial assets to such an unseemly group. But it was my duty as the head of the consortium to familiarize each member with the others' worth as investors."
"Well, you certainly didn't familiarize me with the brand of evil I'd be dealing with, now, did you?"
"I did not know, Senhora Tyler. No one but they themselves knew about their evildoings--and for my ignorance I heartily apologize. But I've heard of other groups of this sort accepting a slightly lower amount, after some careful consideration. In the meantime, we will have to wait for you to raise more money, and then I will continue to negotiate, as we discussed."
"Wait? Wait? " She was now officially ranting. "We only have"--she glanced at her gold Cartier and did some quick math to allow for the time difference--"nine or so more hours until they are going to...to kill him!" Her brain scrambled for questions that, perhaps, this monster could answer. "And when was the last time you had any contact from Arthur and Carlo? Where the devil are they?"
"I'm sorry, but I do not know; they appear to have refused my offer to reunite them with Jeremy, perhaps out of some irrational fear that they might be held accountable for your, shall we say, failure to produce the required ransom."
"Isn't there someone else that can help me?" she demanded. "Isn't there someone else with whom I can reason?"
"As you very well know, I am the only one in charge. And you just need to let me do my best-- perhaps after you do yours. "
She tapped her pen on her yellow legal pad. "What"--she searched for words, hoping if she phrased her question correctly the answer would be more optimistic--
"are the chances, in a situation like this. I mean, what happens when...when there's not...I mean--"
He cut her off. "Every situation is different. What I understand is that even if every demand is met, the holding group still has the option of doing whatever they wish.
Then again, sometimes the hostage just winds up on a road somewhere walking aimlessly, and gets picked up by someone driving home from work. But in this case that possibility is very, very, very unlikely."
"That's a terrific comfort, thank you."
"What about that Swiss foundation you mentioned? The one whom your government suggested you contact for assistance?"
"They've only offered me a paltry sum, based on the fact that Tyler, Inc., had a change of management in the past year, due to my husband's death; a more sizable loan to me, as I've been told, would carry with it too high a risk."
He paused. "In the meantime, then, I suggest you ask your wealthy American friends to help you generate an offer much closer to that of the requested amount.
You do have friends, don't you, Senhora Tyler?"
"Of course I do," she spat.
"Then I suggest you start making some very important phone calls. And in the meantime, I'll let you know if we make progress on Jeremy's release, or if I receive any word from Arthur or Carlo." He took a drag from his cigarette and blew it out noisily.
She closed her eyes and nodded, rubbing her left temple with her free hand. "Yes, Dom Fabiano. And thank you so much for everything. I'll never forget what you've done."
After hanging up, she stood and went over to the French doors, where she could see the waves break upon the sand below. "Where is Arthur?" she whispered to the silent room. "Please, God, if anything has happened to him, then there's just no hoping--"
No! She would not allow herself this indulgence of maudlin thinking! There had to be something she hadn't thought of...someone whom she could count on in a situation like this.
She paced to her desk and back to the doors again. Then she returned to her desk.
Tirelessly, she had exhausted every reasonable resource: the State Department; Homeland Security; the FBI; that useless foundation in Switzerland; the American consulate and the Brazilian police--all had given her the same answer: Give them as much money as you can possibly find, and hope for the best.
How could this all have gone so wrong? This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. Wasn't there someone who could help her? Anyone?
Then she realized that there was no one left because she'd sent her dear, strong little army away to ensure her money, but now she realized her dear money wasn't nearly strong enough to ensure her little army.
"Our own little Masada," she heard herself say.
She collapsed onto her perfect French Empire fainting couch-- recently upholstered in crimson Chinese silk with the most darling handembroidered gold bumblebees--
and began to pray.
Chapter 40
Jeremy woke from his nap, stretched his arms over his head, swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood. Then he saw that instead of his own clothes, which were probably off being laundered after his ordeal, the only garment awaiting him was a floor-length white linen robe. He pulled it over his head and let it fall to his feet. As he moved around the room, he was amazed by how comfortable it felt--he enjoyed the feeling of being naked under the pristine, flowing garment.
He looked out the windows and saw that it was already early afternoon. Good.
He'd slept away some of the time before being reunited with Arthur and Carlo. But now he had to go find Fabiano, which was something he wasn't looking forward to after their conversation in the bathroom.
A deep rumble met his ears, and as he looked up to see a passenger jet arc through the cloud-dappled sky, he thought, We'll all be on one of those headed home soon.
He smiled.
He found Fabiano relaxing in a chair on the expansive concrete deck outside, seated at the end of a long glass table, with the remains of what looked like an incinerated steak on a plate in front of him, as well as an untouched salad, a plate of melon, half a pitcher of lemonade and an overflowing ashtray. He was chattering into his cell phone.
He snapped shut the device upon Jeremy's approach. "The view from here is magnificent, no?" he asked cheerfully, motioning for him to sit.
Jeremy's eyes panned the scenery. "You're up really high here," he said. "You can see the bay, and Sugarloaf's cable cars and Cristo, all from this point."
"This is the very site of the first Portuguese fortification. My grandfather had it taken down in the 1920s after it fell into such a state of disrepair it could not be saved. Some still call this area Castle Rock, but others remember it as São Januário's Hill."
"Why all the different names?" Jeremy asked as a plate of steak and salad was put before him.
"It all depends on whom you wish to believe in," Fabiano replied, lighting a fresh cigarette. "The wealthy, or the saints." He lifted his glass in a toast, and Jeremy did the same. "But I believe in both, my friend," he said, and clinked their glasses together. "And I suspect you do, too."
Jeremy smiled and drank his lemonade. "So when are we going to meet them?"
"I am only now just waiting for the telephone call, to let me know the exchange has been made and they are headed here," he said. "We should be hearing any minute."
Jeremy's stomach was queasy again, so he didn't have the appetite for the bloody slab in front of him. "Has anyone made any plane reservations for tomorrow?" he asked. "I mean, did Arthur or my aunt make any that you know about? I should call her and find out."
Fabiano smiled reassuringly. "I've been told that everything is in place." He interlaced his fingers and nodded. "As I sai
d, I am only waiting--"
His cell phone rang. He reached for it. " Si," he said.
Jeremy searched his face for clues that everything was all right.
Instead, he saw the man's face redden. Then he pushed himself up and marched away from the table.
He didn't know whether he should follow him.
What's going on?
He heard him rattling off something in Portuguese. Instructions, probably.
Then he was yelling.
Not good.
Jeremy stood. Then his feet, apparently of their own volition, began making their way over to the man.
Fabiano held up his hand: Stop.
Jeremy stopped.
Fabiano yelled some more.
And in between his rantings he heard him say, No, no, no.
Oh, God.
Fabiano snapped the phone shut.
Then he looked at Jeremy and shook his head. His mouth hung open, and the top of his bald head was sweating.
He pointed at the table. "Please. Sit down."
Jeremy stumbled to his chair and sat.
Fabiano did not sit. Instead he paced back and forth, then stopped finally and faced him. "I have some bad news, my friend," he said as he dug his cigarette pack out of his pocket.
Jeremy's heart pounded. He didn't respond. He couldn't even breathe.
"Your lovers, Arthur and Carlo," he began.
"What?" Jeremy demanded. He was trembling. " Tell me what happened! "
He padded softly to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "The exchange, it did not go well." He shook his head. "Your aunt, she did not have the amount promised.
She deceived them, and when the package was opened they became very, very angry."
" No! She wouldn't do that! " He clenched the arms of the chair.
"Jeremy, my friend. I'm so very sorry. Your aunt, I do not know what she was thinking to lie to me, to them, to all of us. So now...I am afraid they are dead. Your Arthur and your Carlo are dead, and they are coming even now to take you back. It is over for you, as well."
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