Socks for an Otter

by Posy Roberts

  “Where did you go, Louis?”

  “Sebastian’s father thought he was living with a friend all this time.”

  “Sebastian?”

  “Bash. Sebastian. Bastian. Ash. Seb. Sebby. He goes by everything, he eventually told me. He’d probably answer to ‘Hey there’ at this point.”

  “Sounds like he’s lost his identity,” Leah said, notching a few puzzle pieces together for him.

  “Right . . . And he was on his way to finding it again, to figuring himself out, and then last night . . .” He slammed his fists into the floor.

  “What happened last night?”

  “One of those holiday parties I have to do. Schmooze, network, talk to donors like I don’t want their money so they’ll throw it our way before the end of the year so they get a better tax write-off.”

  “I don’t miss those parties.”

  “I brought him. Thought it would be good for him to meet a few of the people, maybe make a connection or two that could lead to a job. He did. Everyone wanted time with him. But a philanthropist Oscar was desperate to talk to was running late, and it just so fucking happened to be Sebastian’s father.”

  “The one who thought his son hopped down the street and was still living the high life,” she said.

  “Sebastian kept saying his father thought he was useless.”

  “Isn’t that what you just said about him?” she challenged.

  “No. I didn’t say that!”

  “I heard you say he wouldn’t make it.”

  “I said— Okay, maybe I inadvertently said that, but what I meant was that he’s not strong enough to survive on the streets this winter. Or maybe I don’t want him to even try. I don’t want him to get hurt. I’m scared for him,” he finished on a whisper.

  She pointed at him and smirked. “Love. I see it written all over your face.”

  “It’s not love. It’s concern.”

  Her brow rose. “Okay, you’re so concerned for him and his survival that you want to help him. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

  “Yes.” He was glad she got it. He liked Sebastian, he cared for him, and he wanted no ill-will to come his way.

  “What set those tears loose?” Leah asked, leaning forward to get a better look. “Those are tears I’m seeing, right?”

  Louis didn’t realize he’d been crying, but when he wiped his cheeks, sure enough, they were wet. He took a breath to steal a moment more to form his thoughts. “He deserves hot baths that last for an hour and warm blankets and comfortable shoes and dry socks.”

  “And it sounds like the poor boy deserves a tent if he can’t have an actual roof over his head.”

  Louis nodded.

  “What the fuck are you waiting for? This is grand-gesture time, Louie. This is the part in the romance movie where you order a bouquet a day or play his favorite song on full blast or write his name in the sand.”

  He chuckled. “We have snow on the ground, actually.”

  “No yellow snow, Louie. Promise me you won’t write his name in yellow snow.”

  “Ewww.”

  “Exactly. So, grand gesture. But think about this long and hard. He doesn’t give a shit about flowers or songs or names.”

  “Not sure he gives a shit about me.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Sebastian paced outside the address Blanche had told him to show up at. It was in a nice neighborhood not too far from the Metro. Only a few blocks. It was a row house, actually, not too unlike what Louis lived in but in a different neighborhood.

  Fuck. Gotta stop thinking of him.

  If he kept the pacing up much longer, someone would call the cops. He swore he saw a curtain flick across the street.

  He climbed the steps and pressed the doorbell. The urge to run away was intense, but he kept his feet glued to the Wipe Your Paws doormat.

  The door glided open without a sound and Blanche stood with a champagne glass in hand, wearing a flowing silk robe cinched at the waist, fuzzy slippers, and what looked like pajama bottoms. “Glad you finally decided to announce yourself. You were out there a long time. Mimosa?” She lifted her glass and walked into a room with fussy little settees and armchairs.

  “Sure, I’ll take a mimosa if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Never,” she said with a smile directed over her shoulder before she shouted, “Darling, pour another mimosa, if you will.”

  “Sure thing, love.”

  “Is this . . . ? I mean . . .”

  She sat at an oversized desk covered in files in a room that looked like it was designed to be a dining room, based on the built-in china hutches. A door swung open, revealing a kitchen on the other side and a muscular man in his thirties in basketballs shorts and a skintight tank top. He handed Sebastian the glass with a smile and a nod, bent to kiss Blanche, then slipped back into the kitchen.

  “Sit,” Blanche said, no nonsense. “Yes, this is my home. I ease into the day and indulge in long mornings. That—” She pointed toward the kitchen. “—is Miguel, my lover, and yes, my husband knows about him. He knows about Isabella too, who you’ll meet later today. We’re one big polyamorous unit, which I know puts some people off, which is why I always do this first meet and greet here. It’s a way to weed people out.” Her smile was calculating but not as much as her stare. “Do you have a problem with this?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ve been in poly relationships before. As long as you’re not asking me to get involved—”

  “Heavens, no,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s clear your heart belongs to Louis.”

  Sebastian fought away the scowl that wanted to form and instead smoothed his brow. “What exactly is this job? And what do you do here?”

  “Outreach between corporate America, philanthropists, and the LGBTQ+ population that needs help. We range from very young people needing advocacy with gender affirmation, kids rejected by their parents, all the way up to the elderly who have no one to help them in their final years.”

  “Then why on earth was my father at that party last night?” He took his first sip of the mimosa so he wouldn’t start spewing curse words across the desk.

  “Do you want to tell me your story?”

  “Not really. I’m sure after I left last night, he told you everything you need to know, which makes me wonder why you even invited me inside.”

  Prickly, prickly, prickly. Not the way to get a job, Bash!

  She gave him a small, sad smile. “Your father didn’t know you were homeless until last night.”

  Sebastian scoffed. “Right. He kicked me out with nothing but what I had on my back, cut me off, and told me not to come home unless I made something of myself.”

  “And I’m here to help you do that.”

  “I don’t care about him anymore. I don’t want this job because I’m related to the rich and powerful Gabriel Lewis or because I’ve slept with Louis Drake.”

  “Is that why you think you’re here?” Blanche asked with a tilt of her head.

  Another sip of mimosa. A long one. His glass would be empty soon. “Why else?”

  She smiled. It was warm and made him relax a little. “I liked what I saw from you last night. You know how to talk to people. You work a room like it’s second nature. You know when to push and when to back off, and that’s what I need. But I need something more. I need a person in this job who can bring the lived stories of our homeless LGBTQ+ youth to life. I need the human side. What you did last night, got to know people, made them fall in love with you, promoted your ideas for how things should be, talked of solutions, and then, only then did you reveal that you were homeless.”

  “I wasn’t putting on a show, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “You’re a natural because this is your truth.” She sipped from her glass, set it down, leaned across the desk, and let out a slow breath. “You’re everything I’ve been looking for. I’ve interviewed over a hundred people for this position, given a dozen
a chance, and no one did what you managed in that room last night.”

  “What did I manage aside from embarrassing you and Louis and humiliating myself in front of my father?”

  “You put a face on homelessness that no one wanted to look away from. That’s remarkable.”

  “The invisible homeless,” Sebastian whispered.

  “Made visible by you.”

  Sebastian stared at his folded fingers where they rested on the desk. As eccentric as she was, she seemed to get it. And if she was willing to use her eccentricities for good rather than evil . . .

  “So, are you interested in working for us?”

  “Yes. But . . .”

  “Housing will be provided.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not much, just a room with a bed, a chair, and a lock on the door. A bathroom down the hall. Essentially a boarding house. And you’ll share the rest of the space. Kitchen, laundry, living room. It’s very modest.”

  Sebastian didn’t know what to say. His experiences in group homes and shelters were abysmal.

  “Do you want to tour the place before you decide?” She read his hesitancy as easily as if he’d blurted out everything in his head and heart.

  “Yes. Is that possible?”

  She nodded and woke her laptop. “Let’s see when I can schedule that. With the holiday . . .” She typed at lightning speed, and moments later he heard the whoosh of an outgoing email.

  “If I accept this position— I want to, but if the housing doesn’t work out, I’m not sure I can afford to work this far out . . .”

  “I’d be willing to refill your SmarTrip card too. If my organization helps people get off the streets and I can’t help you, I’m not sure I’m in the right business.”

  He gave her a weak smile, not sure where that left them. “When do you need my decision?”

  “On the job, tomorrow would be lovely. With the way the holidays fall this year, middle of the week, we lose so many workdays. I’d really liked to get you started sooner rather than later so we can see if you fit here as well as I suspect you will. How does that sound?”

  “Good. That works.”

  Another whoosh. “And it looks like Dylan will be there to show you around the boarding house for the next few hours. Do you need me to call you a car?”

  “Actually, if I’ll be commuting back and forth every day, I’d rather do it on my own so I can work out the bugs.”

  “Do you need me to fill up your card?”

  “No. Louis already did that for me.”

  “Of course he did. Such a Louis thing to do.” She started writing down the address. “I’ll need the best way to get in contact with you as well, so your cell number or a contact person . . . Whichever you’d prefer I have.”

  She slid the notepad across to him, and after tearing off the top sheet with the address, he wrote his name and cell number down. “Thank you for this,” he said as he stood.

  Blanche smiled and rose, following him back through the parlor and to the front entrance. “Louis was distraught last night after you left. He’s worried about you.”

  “He can’t be too worried if he was talking to my father.”

  Blanche shook her head. “That’s a conversation for another day; your father, that is. But Louis . . . he’s the real deal, in case you need someone to reassure you what you’re feeling for that man isn’t crazy or not to be trusted. I’ve known Louis for years, met him before he and Mati got married.”

  “Not sure I want to hear this right now.” Sebastian spoke to the Persian rug. He couldn’t help it.

  “Perhaps not. And I don’t know your relationship status, but I’ll tell you this one thing. I haven’t seen him look at another person the way he looked at you last night. Not ever. Not even Mati, and she once held his whole heart.”

  “Well, maybe someday I’ll match up with the man he thinks he sees when he looks my way. Thanks for everything, Blanche. I’ll get back to you about the boarding house soon.”

  24

  Grand & Subtle

  Louis made his way toward the bridge, at times carrying his load and other times taking advantage of shoveled sidewalks and using the wheels built into the case. He got redirected a few times because of construction, but then he came to a site he’d only been to once. Even so, it was familiar. Faces were too.

  “Hey, you lookin’ for Bash?” a woman with short, spiked hair asked.

  “I am.”

  “He ain’t here. Javon might know, but he’s sleeping for his shift tonight.” She unceremoniously unzipped a tent and stuck her head inside. “Javon, get up. Someone’s lookin’ for Bash, and I don’t know if it’s the guy you talked about or not.” If she was trying to speak in hushed tones so Louis wouldn’t hear, she failed by a long shot. She didn’t seem bothered either way when she reemerged and headed down a way to join a group of people gathered together talking.

  Javon crawled out of his tent and zipped up his coat, squinting at what must’ve been bright light considering how dark his tent seemed. “Louis, right?” He held out his hand, so Louis shook it and smiled.

  “Yup. Good to see you again, Javon. Have you seen Sebastian around or know when he’ll be back?”

  “Nah. He left this morning for a job thing. Some lady?”

  “Oh, thank God he went.” Blanche would help him, so even if Sebastian never spoke to him again, he was in good hands with her.

  “He wasn’t too hopeful.”

  Louis smiled. “He doesn’t give himself enough credit. He has so much to offer, but he doesn’t see it.”

  “Oh man, you got him pegged. Whatcha got there?” Javon asked as he walked around to get a better look at what Louis had hauled all this way.

  He kept his voice low as he said, “A tent . . . since he lost his.” Louis shrugged. Maybe this was stupid or too grand of a gesture, but after Leah put that in his head, a tent was the first thing on his mind.

  “Nice. He needs it. His boxes are soggy.” Javon opened Sebastian’s fabric doors, and as Louis followed him in, he smelled the familiar scent of dampness. Who knew what was growing in here, but if left too long, it could turn into black mold. That shit grew even in cold temps.

  The space was emptier than he remembered. “Where’s all his stuff?”

  “Some was lifted, but I put his sleeping bag in my tent to keep it safe and dry. He said he left his backpack at your place.”

  “Oh fuck. Of course he did. Here I’m bringing him a fucking tent but not the most important stuff.”

  “Shelter’s pretty damn important.”

  “So is his rucksack. I’ll bring it back in a few hours. He needs it.”

  Javon took the tent from Louis and tucked it into the back edge of Sebastian’s makeshift house. “Harder to see back here, ya know, for people looking to lift stuff. But I’ll make sure Bash sees it and let him know it’s from you.”

  “You don’t have to. If he asks . . .”

  “I’ll tell him. He’ll want to know.”

  If he accepted the tent, it would get Sebastian out and away from whatever fungi was growing in his box. But what if he didn’t accept it because it was from Louis?

  “Hey, Javon, can you wait until the tent is set up and he has everything in it before you tell him I brought it?”

  “Why?”

  “In case he’s too proud to accept it.”

  “He’s a have-not now. Fuck pride. Shelter’s one of those things he can’t be picky about no more.”

  “Just in case. Okay?” Louis waited for Javon to nod before continuing. “I’ll bring by his bag as soon as I have everything packed up. Actually . . .” He popped his head back in and grabbed an armful of blankets, then stepped back outside. “I’ll wash these and bring them back this afternoon and set up the tent too.” That was grand, right? Grand enough?

  “Or you could leave his bag there, make that boy come to you.”

  Louis shook his head. “Nah. I won’t make him do that.”

 
“’Cause you don’t want him no more or some other reason?”

  Stupid tears blurred Louis’s vision, and Javon saw. There was no way he didn’t. “I want him, but I want him to want me just as much.”

  Javon pursed his lips and slipped his hands in his back pockets as he scrutinized Louis. “Keep the bag for another day, but maybe bring him something you know he’d like.”

  “Beyond the tent?”

  “Yeah. Something personal. A favorite candy bar or soda. Something small.”

  “So, not a grand gesture?”

  Javon held a palm out to Sebastian’s cardboard house. “What’s grander than buying your man a house?”

  Louis laughed, tears flooding his eyes, making his voice sound weird, and he pulled Javon into a tight hug. “Thank you.”

  “No problem, man.” Javon patted his back.

  “He did something to me. Unthawed my heart or something.”

  “And you made him less prickly. I saw his soft underbelly for the first time that day you two showed up here. Never saw that before.”

  Louis took a step back and asked, “Really?”

  “Really. Now go. Find the perfect little thing.”

  Sebastian walked under the bridge and his feet faltered. There in place of his . . . home was a fucking tent. “Who . . . ?”

  No one seemed to be around, which wasn’t unusual this time of day. It was mealtime. But they could all have just headed inside their tents to keep the wind off their faces.

  “Javon? Shirley? Walter?”

  Nothing.

  Javon had locked his two zipper tabs together, so there was no way to check, but that was also a clear sign he was gone.

  The tent in his spot, however, wasn’t locked. He crept closer and listened.

  Nothing.