That Sweet Burn

by Temple Madison

  * * * *

  Later, Dimitri gazed at Franco over a room service cart full of leftover food and a half-full bottle of wine. He’d been talking about Rolly, and the subject was difficult for him.

  Dimitri was sympathetic to his pain.

  “He’s done a lot for me, and here I betray him like this.” He looked up at Dimitri. “He was there for me when my wife died. I was miserable in Australia, and when I got back he was so damned supportive. He came in and did everything for me. Cooked my meals, allowed me some quiet time so I could get over it. I could have never got through my wife’s death without him.” He lowered his head. “And look at what I’ve done to him.”

  “I think you’re underestimating him, Franco. Like you told me, he’s a big boy, he’ll bounce back.”

  “No,” Franco said sadly. “Hell, I think he’s in love with you, and now, to find out we’re sleeping together, I mean, it’s just all so much for him to handle at one time.”

  “All this is my fault. I should have never sat down with him that day at the diner.”

  “What are you talking about?” Franco looked at him.

  “I was just remembering when I met Rolly. You know that dumpy little diner down on Bradford Street? I think it’s called The Sweet Pea. I went in there one day for lunch, and it was full. I was about to walk out when he invited me to join him in his booth. By the time he left we had a date to go to dinner.”

  “You asked him out?”

  “Oh, no, he asked me out. I couldn’t refuse since he made it sound as if I was repaying him for giving me a place to sit.” He gazed sadly at the carpet on the floor. “Worst thing I could have done.”

  “You couldn’t have known. Besides, if you hadn’t we might have never met.”

  “So what’s wrong with that? Hell, Franco, look at what I’ve done to both you and Rolly. Apparently that one senseless act ruined everyone’s life.”

  “Dimitri,” Franco said sternly as he turned him around to look at him. “Don’t say that, hell, don’t even think it. You coming into my life is the only good thing that’s happened to me. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  Dimitri was silent for a moment. “I feel the same way, Franco.”

  “Then you don’t feel as if you’ve been forced into any of this?”

  “Forced?” Dimitri looked up at him with surprise. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “Rolly accused me of forcing you into doing something you didn’t want to do.”

  “Forced me to be gay? Where the hell would he get an idea like that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because I’m the older one. Kind of like setting an example, I suppose. And when I thought back over the last few days I had to sort of agree. I was a little forceful with you.” He looked at Dimitri closely. “It must have sounded like I was ordering you around. Look, Dimitri, if you don’t feel the same way I do, please say so. I don’t want to—”

  “My God, what is this I’m hearing? You don’t think I’m capable of saying no if I don’t want to do something?”

  “Of course I do, but Rolly—”

  “To hell with Rolly!” Dimitri yelled. “Sorry, Franco, but you can’t listen to Rolly in the state he’s in. He’ll say anything. I want you to understand one thing, Franco. I want you. I need you. Hell, I…” He paused.

  “What, Dimitri?”

  “I love you, Franco. At least I think I do.” He waited for Franco to say the words as well, but when they didn’t come, he said, “All right, you don’t have to feel the same way about me, but—”

  “You only think you’re in love with me because I was your first.”

  “So you don’t feel the same, right?”

  “I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying I don’t know how I feel right now. Maybe it’s because too much is happening in my life at the present. My emotions are all torn up because of this situation with Rolly. Let’s give it a little time, and when this is all over…” He rose from his chair and gently took Dimitri in his arms. “…ask me again.”

  While Dimitri and Franco were gazing into each other’s eyes, Dimitri’s gaze happened to shift to the clock on the wall. “Damn!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got to get back. I can’t afford to be late. I was hoping we could…”

  “What, again?” Franco said teasingly. “Hey, don’t go home after work, come back here and stay with me. It’ll be better then. We’ll have plenty of time. No rushing, no whining.”

  “You haven’t been whining.”

  “No, I was talking about you.”

  “You rat!” Dimitri laughed.

  Franco whirled him around and slapped him on the ass. “All right, get out of here. I can’t afford to have a lover with no job. After all, who’ll keep me in the manner to which I have become accustomed?”

  “Hey, I’m impressed with your use of proper English.”

  “Well, just because I’m a hot-blooded Latin doesn’t mean I don’t know how to speak-a de English. Of course it’s nothing compared to rat’s ass, and a lot of other slang I’ve heard coming out of your mouth.”

  “Hey, you’re not a full-blooded American unless your language is filthy with slang.”

  “That reminds me. I heard something yesterday. What about this?” Franco’s voice was laced with intimacy as they stood at the open door kissing. “You’re my one and only, uh…main squeeze? Stud muffin? Is that—?”

  Dimitri laughed. “You’re hopeless. Just stick to what you know, and I’ll be dazzled.”

  “Okay, baby,” Franco said, relieved. “I’ll be looking for you around five. Hurry, okay?”

  “Like lightning,” Dimitri promised, and then glanced down at his watch. “Got to go.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  Finally pulling himself away, Dimitri hurried toward the elevator.

  Thinking he heard a series of clicks, Franco looked, but didn’t see anything, so he turned and went back inside.

  Just as the door closed, a dark stranger with lips to die for slowly inched around a corner.

  * * * *

  It was a chilly day, and the portion of the furniture store parking lot where Sherlock and Rolly had agreed to meet was vacant except for their two cars that were parked close together. The sky was clouded over, the day was dreary, and the wind played a mournful song through the leafy limbs high in the trees.

  It was the kind of day that seemed to color your mood, and Sherlock had apparently caught the disease. Since he’d known Rolly he’d begun to feel something for him, and hated the lies he’d been telling him. But to come clean now would be worse, so he knew he had to keep his mouth shut, and his real identity a secret, at least until the time was right for him to tell him the truth. If only he’d met him somewhere else. At a party, a dance, a club, hell, even through friends—he wouldn’t have begun lying to him, but now it was too late, and he would have to keep playing the big shot investigator like those he’d seen on T.V.

  So the lies, like a wall, stood between them.

  Finally, Sherlock gave Rolly a curious look and said, “You know, this job can be a bit confusing at times. I mean, I get shot at, hit on the head. First I’m chasing one guy, and then another. I’m running down dark streets one minute, and crawling through tunnels the next, and…well, it all starts getting to you after a while, so if I seem to be a little confused please forgive me.” He hesitated as he looked down at the photographs he held in his hand. “Since ninety percent of my customers are women who want their cheating husbands followed, I figured you had a wife somewhere, but from what I found out…”

  Rolly’s smile fell. He quickly grabbed the photographs he was holding and looked down at them. His eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and suddenly the stack of pictures began burning his hands like fire. “Oh, my God!”

  “Is that what you were looking for?”

  “Not really, I mean…Look, I’m gay. When I met t
his guy and we went out, I was…well hoping we were about to begin a relationship, but when I introduced him to my landlord, the next thing I knew they were an item.”

  “One date?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You wanted to hook onto this guy after one date? Hell, he must be hot.”

  “He is, but…well, I guess I did kind of overplay my hand. He wasn’t interested in me, but he apparently was in Franco.”

  “So this is kind of one-sided, right?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Well, my God, man, what do you expect? You only went out once. There was no commitment between you when he met this other guy. He couldn’t have known how you felt, and when he saw this other guy, he fell for him. Give the guy some slack; I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you so bad.”

  “Well, he did,” Rolly said bitterly. He turned to jerk the car in gear when he felt a hand on his arm.

  “Hey, man, don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Sherlock urged.

  “By the way, since the job is over I believe I owe you some money.” He began digging for his checkbook. “Do you want me to write you a check now, or would you rather send me a bill?”

  “How about you take me out to dinner and we call it even?”

  Rolly looked up, surprised. “Dinner? For what you did?”

  “I took a few pictures. Big deal.”

  “Still, that seems hardly enough.”

  “Rolly, I’ve been on this job two days, and have only been out a little gas and film for my camera. Now, there’s no way I’m going to charge you some ungodly amount for no more than that. If you feel you owe me something, you can buy me dinner.”

  “Well…I suppose…if you’re sure.”

  “I am. I’ll consider the bill paid after an evening of fine dining. Do you have a favorite place?”

  Rolly looked at him curiously. “Do you know about The Legends?”

  “It’s been a while, but I’ve been there.”

  “They have a little bit of everything on their menu, even Chinese.”

  “I love Chinese.”

  “How about fortune cookies? Do you believe in those things?”

  “Not really, but I think it’s fun to open them up and see what they say.”

  Rolly looked at him, a sudden sparkle coming back. “Saturday night?”

  “See you at seven. And, Rolly…”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m gay,” he said with a wink and a smile.

  Rolly gazed curiously at his close-cropped curly hair, his full, pleasing lips, and nice-guy smile and his thoughts went whirling through his head like a hurricane.

  Careful. No falling in love, and definitely no—well, we’ll see.

  Chapter 8

  That night…

  WHEN Rolly got home darkness covered the earth like a death shroud.

  He was a nervous mess because he was going to confront Franco with the ugly truth. It was one thing to talk about it, but to see it spread out right before his eyes, graphically displayed in a photograph, was more than he had hoped for. He wanted to see Franco’s face when he looked at the pictures. What would he see? Shock? Horror? Anger? No. What Rolly wanted was humiliation, shame! Sure, they both knew the truth, and they had even discussed it, but they were only words. Explicitly displayed right before Franco’s eyes would be like a blow to his gut—a knife stabbed deeply into his black heart. It was the nearest thing he could get to a murder. In his hands he held retribution. Proof that Franco had betrayed a friend. He looked forward to throwing it right in his face and watching his reaction.

  Now, after he had changed clothes, poured himself a drink, and ran down the steps to the main house, he thought of what Franco had said about changing the locks. He stopped when he got to the door, and noticed that nothing had been done, so he let himself in. He worked soundlessly as he began spreading all the photographs out on the coffee table for Franco to see the moment he came in the door. By the time he was through, he was visibly shaking. He kept looking at the offensive pictures, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t move them since they were the proof he needed that Franco had deceived him.

  As time passed, his mind was in a whirl, and he became increasingly nervous. He waited, paced, checked his watch, looked out the window for a car approaching, and tapped his foot impatiently. When he saw nothing except the climbing moon, stars winking, and time passing, he let the drape fall, and went and stood by the fireplace. While he stood there, he looked down at the pictures that told a sordid story.

  There they were, all spread out like some porno ad that attracted none but the very disturbed. Because of him—because of Dimitri—his relationship with Franco had been ruined. He was the bastard he’d met in that broken down little diner. The bastard that couldn’t even remember his name the first time he met Franco. The bastard that he had felt sorry for because he thought he was afraid, and very nervous about meeting a friend of Rolly’s for the first time. Now he knew that Dimitri hadn’t been afraid of him, he’d been dazzled by him.

  One look should have told him that something was happening between them. But blind, stupid, trusting geek that he was, he didn’t see it, he just kept blabbering like an idiot while these two couldn’t see anyone but each other.

  That’s why he finally went inside.

  Because he had faded right out of the picture!

  Now here he was, waiting for Franco to walk in that door, waiting for him to make an appearance, waiting—and then suddenly the front door opened, and he looked up. He seemed to be made of stone as the two of them just stood staring at each other, an ugly truth rearing up between them.

  Finally, Rollo said, “Where the hell have you been?”

  “A better question is, what are you doing here? This is my house, and I believe I told you I don’t want you coming and going as if you owned the place. I would appreciate it if you would leave.”

  “I’m here for a reason.”

  “You’re always here for a reason, Rolly. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m here to pick up a few things, and then I’m leaving again.”

  “Why? To be with Dimitri?”

  “I think it’s best that we let the matter rest for a time. When you’re in your right mind again we can talk about it intelligently.”

  “Oh, yes. The wise old man and his wisdom,” he said with a snicker. “I’d love it if you were a wise old man instead of one that’s young, handsome, and burning with lust!”

  “Rolly, please, nothing can be gained by that kind of talk. It causes hard feelings that can never be erased. You’ll say things, I’ll say things…things that can never be taken back. Once you throw something out there, it’s too late, so don’t do it.”

  Rolly watched as he turned and went upstairs, and then his gaze shifted to the pictures on the coffee table, and he felt a coldness he’d never felt before. A coldness of the soul. Yes, he was mad at Franco, in fact, he was totally livid, but he remembered when it used to be different. The way they seemed to get along. Real friends, close friends. Rolly hadn’t realized how much he cared for Franco. He’d gone to him many times for his advice—the advice of an older man who’d traveled the same road he was on—for his sage advice.

  But now, all that had changed.

  All because of Dimitri.

  Nothing stays the same, does it?

  Along with the pictures, he had a written report, telling him that they had a room at the Marriott downtown. The familiarity they shared, the intimacies, such as kissing, touching—it was all there. He marveled at how well Sherlock had managed to gain access into the room when they weren’t there, and placed his cameras in strategic spots. These pictures said it all. He stared down at the ones taken in the bedroom. He could see the closeness between them, and his heart seemed to break. As he gazed at them he recalled from somewhere—maybe from a book he had once read—a few words that now replayed in his mind…

  Still in their loins were the soft, velvety tellta
le signs of orgasms that were slowly fading like the strains of a beautiful song. Each one was breathing the other’s breath as they lay close, knowing the love that they wanted, needed, must have, was within reach if desire blossomed once again.

  He knew it was his imagination, but as he stared at the pictures, he could almost see movement. The two men, one Franco, someone he could go to when he was lonely or sad, and the other, Dimitri, the man he was hoping to have a relationship with, coming together in a crushing embrace. Their bodies fusing, their hips moving, the sound of moans rising from the picture as they fucked each other before his very eyes.

  Suddenly he looked up when he heard Franco’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He quickly noticed the bag he had in his hand. It looked full, stuffed. It would have clothes, toiletries, all the things he felt he couldn’t do without while he and Dimitri played house together.

  “So long, for now,” he said, his voice gravelly with sobs.

  “Franco, before you go I want to show you something.”

  Franco slowed his steps, put down his bag, and walked over to him. His gaze immediately fell on the pictures spread out on the coffee table. “What are those?”

  “That’s what I want to show you.”

  Franco leaned over and picked them up, and shuffled through them, the look on his face registering alarm, disbelief, and anger before he looked up at Rolly. With sparks flying from his eyes he said, “My God, you’ve been spying on me?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “Yeah? What would you call it?”

  Suddenly Rolly felt guilty, plagued with questions. Why had he done it? He didn’t have to. He knew what was happening between him and Dimitri. Why did he have to have it strewn out here, and thrown in Franco’s face? “I was…”

  “Nothing you can say will make this right, Rolly. The truth is, you hired yourself a private investigator and had me followed. So what did you find out, Rolly? What did you learn? That I found someone I could care for, someone who cares for me?” He threw the photographs back down on the coffee table. “You had one friggin’ date with him…not even a date, really, just a…an appointment, for God’s sake. It was cold…between two friends, not two lovers. One dinner, Rolly! One friggin’ dinner! God, what are you…desperate?”