That Sweet Burn

by Temple Madison

  “You look like the cat that ate the canary, Dimitri,” Rolly said, laughing. “What are you thinking about?”

  Rolly’s words lifted Dimitri out of his dream world long enough for him to feel a surge of guilt. “I—I was just thinking of something that happened at work the other day.”

  “Why don’t you share it with us?”

  “Really, it wouldn’t be funny to anyone but me.” He gave a short, secretive look at Franco. “It was kind of an inside joke.”

  “Well, try to stay here with us, okay?”

  “Sure. Sorry, Fr…uh, Rolly.”

  He shifted his nervous gaze toward Franco, and saw a reprimand in his eyes.

  “If everyone’s finished, why don’t we take our coffee into the living room? It’ll be more comfortable in there.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. Come on, Dimitri, and tell me what’s been keeping you busy these last few days. It seems like forever since I’ve seen you.”

  On that note, Franco rose from his chair, and began clearing the table. “You two go on, and I’ll be in later.” He gave a furtive look at Dimitri, and nodded toward Rolly, indicating that this was the perfect time to tell him.

  Taking his cue, Dimitri said, “Rolly, there’s something I need to talk to you about, is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Why don’t we go up to my place? I’ve been meaning to show it to you. You’ll love my bed.” He slid his gaze over toward Franco and winked seductively. “Hey, Franco, don’t be surprised if we’re not back real soon. I…”

  Dimitri looked over at Franco with panic in his eyes.

  “Uh…Rolly, why don’t you forget about that? I’d like to get to know Dimitri a little better. Isn’t that what you had in mind in inviting him to dinner? Now you want to take him away before I get the chance. Really, man. What are you thinking?”

  “But he said he needed to talk to me.”

  “Oh, well, it’s not that important,” Dimitri said. “We can do it another time.”

  “But I wanted…” Rolly shrugged. “Oh, well, never mind.” The two of them sat down and were drinking their coffee, when suddenly Rolly’s face brightened. “Hey Dimitri, remember when I told you about the autograph I got from Mohammed Ali? It’s upstairs. It’ll just take a minute to get it. I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure, take your time.”

  As soon as Rolly left, Dimitri turned to Franco. “Did you see that? He’s like a kid at Christmas over a stupid autograph. Hell, Franco why do I have to hurt him? Why can’t I just…I don’t know…not see him anymore.”

  “I told you, Dimitri. We’ll be together; you’ll be in my life…”

  “I know all that, but it just seems like we’re making too big a deal out of all this. Like you said before, he’s a big guy, he’s not going to crack up, or anything. I agree with you. I just feel that we’re underestimating him.”

  “I may be overreacting, it’s true,” Franco said, and then reached out, put his hand on Dimitri’s neck, and drew him closer and kissed him. “But we need to get this out of the way. It’ll be worth it, won’t it? When we’re together?”

  “You know it,” Dimitri replied, looking up at him with love. “Franco, let’s go to the motel again. That place has become kind of special to me.”

  “That fleabag? Why don’t we do it up right and get a room with all the amenities?”

  Dimitri laughed. “I want room service, a mini-bar—”

  “Peasant,” Franco teased. “How about a spa on the balcony? We can fuck among the stars, and beneath the moon.”

  “Careful, you’ll spoil me.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  * * * *

  After Rolly snatched the autograph he had wrapped in protective plastic, and was on his way back, he walked by the large bay window of the house where he heard whispering voices. It sounded intimate, even sensuous. He thought at first that the T.V. was on, but when he turned to the window, he saw Dimitri and Franco talking. Their faces were close—my God, were they kissing? He turned quickly and hurried up the steps to the door, and opened it abruptly, looking at them accusingly.

  They quickly jumped apart, and Franco, with his quick thinking, said, “I think that took care of it, didn’t it, Dimitri?”

  “Uh…”

  “I was trying to get something out of his eye. Real bothersome…painful. He’s all right now, though.”

  Rolly looked over at Dimitri. “What was it, Dimitri?”

  “Oh, nothing much…an eyelash…or something. It’s gone now. Franco took care of it. Quite a guy…Franco.”

  “Say, Rolly,” Franco began. “Dimitri was just telling me he had to leave. Something about having to go into work early tomorrow morning. Why don’t you walk him out, and say goodnight?”

  He looked at Dimitri. “Is that right, Dimitri?”

  “I’m…I’m afraid so.”

  “But you said we needed to talk.”

  “Oh, that. Not important.” He looked down at his watch. “I just now noticed the time. I really should get going. I’ve got a trial coming up, and a lot of studying to do. In fact I have to go over the case with a fine tooth…” He looked toward Franco to bail him out.

  “Yeah, it’s a murder trial, isn’t it Dimitri?”

  “Yeah. I almost forgot about it.”

  “But the evening’s hardly started. I thought maybe we could…I mean, I wanted to show you my apartment. You know…”

  “Special, is it?” Dimitri said as his knowing gaze cut furtively toward Franco, and then back to Rolly. “You know I’d love it, but we’ll have to do it next time.”

  “Sure,” Rolly said.

  “Well…” Dimitri began while grabbing his jacket and heading toward the door. “I had a great time, Rolly, and thanks, uh, Franco. The dinner was great.”

  “Sure. Anytime, Dimitri,” Franco said, putting out his hand.

  “Yes, sir,” Dimitri said, taking it and shaking it. His breath caught in his lungs when he felt Franco rub his palm with his middle finger. He looked up at him, and the two passed looks between them that Rolly couldn’t have missed had he been looking—and he was.

  * * * *

  The moment Dimitri left, Franco headed for the kitchen to finish cleaning up, when Rolly came in, and stood looking at him with accusing eyes.

  “All right, what’s going on, Franco?”

  When Franco heard him, he turned, smiled, and said, “What? What do you mean?”

  “I said, what the hell is going on?”

  “I still don’t know what you mean.”

  “The looks, Franco. The looks between you and Dimitri. It’s like you have your own little secret language and no one knows what’s being said but you two.”

  “I’m sure you’re imagining things.”

  “The last time you two saw each other you were almost at each other’s throats. What’s happened since then to make you so…I don’t know. Chummy?”

  “Rolly,” Franco said, rather reluctantly. “For God’s sake, why the hell don’t you leave the poor guy alone? Believe me, he’s not interested.”

  “Not interested? I don’t understand. Is there something wrong with me?”

  “It’s not you. It’s him.”

  “What do you mean? Is he hiding something? A secret past? A wife somewhere?”

  “Well…I hate to say this, but he’s…uh…he’s…”

  With impatience showing in his face, he said, “Try again.”

  “Damn. I hate like the devil to tell you this, Rolly, but…”

  “But what, Franco? Spit it out, for God’s sake!”

  “Dimitri’s seeing someone. When he went to dinner with you that night, it was only to pay back a favor, that’s all. A kindness. Hell, man, you took it and ran with it. You just assumed he was available.”

  “Yeah. Because he accepted my invitation.”

  “All right, so he shouldn’t have
done that. It was a mistake, he admits that. You both made mistakes. He didn’t tell you, and you didn’t ask. Now he’s found himself in a spot, and he’s afraid of hurting you.”

  “Why the hell do you know so much about it?”

  “He came to me for advice on how to tell you, that’s all. Dimitri was going to tell you tonight, but I decided that it should be me. We…Dimitri and I…were just trying to protect your feelings. That’s why this dinner was arranged, to get it all out in the open. Dimitri was nervous about the whole thing, and after discussing it I let him off the hook. We both lied to you about his having to leave, and I’m sorry about that, but I just wanted to tell you myself. I hoped I could soften the blow a little.”

  “You’re happy about this, aren’t you, Franco? You didn’t like Dimitri from the start. And now, since there’s no chance for us, you’re happy about it. Right?”

  “No, Rolly, I’m not happy,” he said, thinking about his own situation. “But isn’t it best you find out now instead of later?”

  “I don’t know how, but I think this is your doing. Do me a favor, and stay out of my life, Franco.” He turned and stomped out.

  “You’re blaming me?” Franco yelled after him. “What the hell do I have to do with any of this besides trying to do you a friggin’ favor?” He watched him leave, and the minute he heard the front door slam he ran to the phone, and punched in Dimitri’s number. When he answered, Franco whispered into the mouthpiece, “I told him, and he didn’t take it well.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him you were seeing someone else. I just didn’t tell him who, so he has no idea it’s me.”

  “Oh, God, Franco…”

  “I need to see you, Dimitri, but it’s late. How about tomorrow?”

  “Sure. You know I’m ready anytime.”

  There was a slight pause, and then Franco said, “Tomorrow, let’s have lunch, okay? Nothing fancy, something quick, and…oh, hey, I know. Meet me at the bench in front of that little lake close to your office, but I forget the name of it.”

  “I know the one. I’ll meet you there about one with…are hotdogs and Cokes okay?”

  “Sure. Hey, no onions.”

  “Got it.”

  “I better hang up,” Franco said worriedly. “Rolly’s fit to be tied. I need to keep an eye on him. I’m just afraid he’ll try to do something foolish.”

  “Oh, God, Franco. I really hate this. I never wanted to hurt him.”

  “God, I feel like…”

  * * * *

  Rolly thought about what Franco had told him, but simply couldn’t accept it. Finally, he decided he wouldn’t believe anything except what he heard from Dimitri’s own lips. With that, he decided to call him, so he got up and reached for his phone. The moment he made a connection he heard the irritating busy signal, and knew what had happened. The moment he left Franco, he must have called Dimitri. He quickly banged the phone down, and slammed out of his apartment, ran down the steps, but stopped abruptly when he reached the front door. He reached down and turned the knob as carefully as he could, and quietly tiptoed in. He heard voices from the kitchen, and went to the hall phone and picked up the extension very gently, and brought it up to his ear.

  Being curious, he stayed quiet—and listened.

  “…my life is falling apart. I broke Rolly’s heart all because I’m in love with his friggin’ boy…well, who he thought was his boyfriend. God, how much worse can it get?”

  With a gasp, Rolly’s eyes widened in surprise, the phone fell from his hand, and he felt a roiling in his stomach as if everything he had eaten was about to gush out on the carpet.

  Oh, my God!

  He looked down at the phone as if it were a crawling snake. He could still hear the voices speaking, and when he clearly heard Dimitri saying things to Franco he’d never said to him, he knew now that Franco was right. He was seeing someone else—Franco!

  Thinking back, he remembered the looks that passed between them. It wasn’t dislike, it was…attraction.

  That would mean—Franco was gay!

  It was then, at that moment in time—at that very precise second—that something snapped.

  With cold, precise movements, he slowly leaned over to pick up the phone, and looked down at it. He no longer felt anger, or the desire to slam the phone down, or even to grab a gun and begin shooting. Instead of the actions of a man who had been badly wronged, he found himself with an unusual amount of control, and replaced the receiver very quietly.

  Yes, he felt as if his life was over, but to cry out, to yell, to go and rail against Franco for the way he had wronged him would solve nothing. Instead of the killing anger he should have been feeling, it was replaced with a cool, unruffled, almost tranquil feeling—like the calm before a storm. And then a small smile twitched at his lips when he remembered the last words he’d heard Franco say.

  How much worse can it get?

  Chapter 6

  MY face is a real problem, the handsome young man thought as he looked at himself in the mirror.

  Hell, he didn’t want handsome, or cute, he wanted unattractive, maybe even unsightly. Because of the line of work he was in his customers expected his features to be coarse and older-looking, and were openly disappointed when what they saw was smooth skin, twinkling eyes, and brows that were arched upward like a bird in flight. To make matter worse, both his chin and throat were strong, and the frame of his body indicated that he was a dedicated athlete. Up around the loose collar of his casual shirt, a scattering of dark hair could be clearly seen, and gave him the look of a virile man.

  Maybe I should keep that closed, he thought as he yanked at it, and almost choked himself as he buttoned it up.

  Now, as he continued to look himself over, he hated what he saw. He was expecting a new client to come in at any moment, and knew the first thing people saw in him was his youth. Turning his face and looking closely at himself from every angle, he wondered how he could make himself appear older. Many had actually turned away the minute they saw him because he wasn’t the stereotype investigator they saw on T.V. Ugly, wrinkled, quirky, and a little stupid. Okay, Mannix was cool.

  T.V. was ruining his life.

  That’s why he had to take his story, dust it off, and polish it up so he would sound like he was worth the money he would charge those who came to him for help. Since he liked excitement he had tried to get on at the local police department, but they’d turned him down, so he did the next best thing, and opened up his own little “police department” in a broken down building in a part of town you could get a disease in.

  He finally glanced down at his watch, taking note that it was time for his new client to arrive. He had to hurry, so he quickly turned away from the mirror, but not before he gave himself one more critical look. Being totally dissatisfied, he reached up, messed up his hair, and even pulled his shirt halfway out of his pants. And then he had a brainstorm. He moved quickly as he unbuttoned his shirt, and then buttoned it up again, being sure it was uneven so he would look like a slob.

  Yeah, that would do it. You couldn’t get much worse than this unless you had a mud hole to roll around in. He looked around, and was rewarded when he noticed his windowsill was heavy with dust. Reaching over, he ran his hands along it, and then along his slobbish clothes, making it look as if he had been tunneling through a sewer.

  Ah, that should do it.

  * * * *

  Rolly had gotten the idea of hiring a private investigator the day he saw one on T.V. He sat enthralled by the gritty-looking man who could handle a gun so well it was like having another appendage. He saw him involved in wild car chases through city streets, crawl through tunnels, roll on the ground while shooting his gun, and even jumping off high bridges to safety. By the time the show was over, he knew this was the kind of man he needed.

  A risk taker.

  That’s why he found himself in this part of town, walking through trash
on the streets, his steps striking everything from beer cans to used hypodermic needles. He hurried away from drunks who leered at him, and saw children barely out of their teens dressed in gang garb, wielding knives and guns.

  Now, as he loitered outside a broken down building, he looked up at the second floor, and then down at the address he had in his hand. Aside from the address and phone number, the name on the card was simply—Sherlock, Private Investigator. He had called beforehand to make an appointment, and felt lucky that he was able to get one on such short notice. All the way down here he thought about turning around and going back. Hell, he knew he was carrying this a little far, but if other people went this route to find answers, why not him? It was worth a try. Besides Franco sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him anything.

  So, whether he liked it or not—enter the fuckin’ PI.

  With a certain resolve roiling around in his stomach, he found himself tiptoeing up creaky steps, and getting lost in hallways that were haunted by ghosts that clearly needed to be on welfare. When he finally stood before a scarred up door with a number on it that corresponded with the one on the card, he knocked hesitantly. When he didn’t hear anything he walked in and saw a man that obviously didn’t belong in this mess of a neighborhood.

  “Are you Mr. Sherlo—” he began as he stood just inside the door.

  “Just Sherlock, please.”

  “Uh…okay,” he said as he looked around at his office. There were papers everywhere. Stacks and stacks of them. Bulging files, crumpled up paper that had been thrown at the trash can, and missed, and a pair of venetian blinds that had a broken connector and sagged about halfway down. On the wall there was a neglected calendar open to the wrong month, a wall safe standing open, and—were those bullet holes in the frame of the window? He looked down at the rumpled man in his twenties and tried to picture him rolling on the ground shooting someone, and it just didn’t gel. Instead he looked as if he should be surrounded by tuxedo-clad people with champagne glasses in their hands instead of sitting in a creaking chair that sounded as if it was about to break under his weight. He was handsome, and he shouldn’t have been—at least not in these surroundings. If you saw him on a beach no doubt he would have six-pack abs, a smile that dazzled in the sun, or if he wore a nice business suit he might look the part of a savvy CEO. No, he wasn’t at all what Rolly had expected, and it bothered him at first, but he tried to get past it because it had to be now or never. He couldn’t go through this again.