Tart and Soul

by Storm Grant

  “I so want off this Goddamn emotional roller coaster, dude. I’m laughing one minute, bawling the next. How can I raise a hundred grand for that bastard? I already owe that much in student loans.”

  “Shhhh. We’ll figure out something. You’re not alone anymore.”

  “Buying out my contract is not your responsibility.”

  “I made the deal, so yeah, it is. And Marco only agreed on the strength of my mom’s reputation. She’ll need to make good if either one of us fails to come across.”

  “We’re both going to have to ‘come across’ an awful lot to pay that off, Cam. Why not just have him killed or something?” Although Joshua was kidding, Cam felt glimmer of hope as an idea began to form. He just needed to talk to his mom.

  Joshua surprised Cam by nuzzling his neck and running his hand down his chest. Startled, he grabbed Joshua’s exploring hand and held it in place on his rib cage. “It’s okay, Joshua,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do anything. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Look, Cam. This emotional roller coaster ride I’m on just took a turn into the tunnel of love. I serviced a lot of people lately, and no one’s bothered with my needs. I’m kind of hoping to experience some of your professional skills…” He looked away. “I’d reciprocate.”

  Rampantly hard at the thought of making love to this beautiful young man, Cam rolled on his side, facing his guest. He grabbed Joshua’s ass with his free hand and ground their hard cocks together. Then, impatient after weeks of fantasies, he dipped his hand down the back of the borrowed sweats. Joshua hissed sharply. Cam withdrew his hand and caressed Joshua’s hip through the sweats instead--stroking to soothe, rather than excite.

  “Uh, not that, Cam. Not tonight anyway. When Marco told you I don’t have much stamina, he wasn’t kidding. I hadn’t much experience with the hard core stuff before I met up with that scum, then he put me on the street, so I’m, er, um…”

  “A little sore?”

  “Chewed up like raw meat is more like it.”

  Cam winced. “Should I drive you to the hospital, Joshua? Or call a doctor? My mom has some medical training…”

  “I so do not want my hooker-lover’s madam-mother examining my asshole, Cam. Even Freud would freak out at that.” He took Cam’s hand and placed it over his erection, pressing down a little. “Nothing a little Preparation H and some anal downtime can’t cure.”

  “Way to be romantic, Josh. Talking about over-the-counter medications always gets me hot.”

  “And Cam, ever wondered what happened to Preparations A through G? And who beta-tested them?” Cam felt the urge to sock Joshua for that one, but his hand was busy. And then he groaned in pleasure as Joshua’s hand also got busy. It was high-school stuff, but it was good between them, and when Joshua made little puppy-dog noises in the back of his throat and shot over Cam’s curving fingers, it inspired Cam’s own orgasm to sing through his body and pour out his dick.

  Still pulsing with the aftershocks, Cam reached for the wet towels Joshua had dropped when he’d hastily donned the loaner sweats.

  “Leave the cleanup 'til morning, dude.”

  “No. It’ll only take a second. If I don’t, it’ll bother me all night.”

  “A little anal, are we?” Joshua asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm and satisfaction.

  “Well, at least one of us is.”

  That led to shared laugher and kisses. They settled down for the night, and following a few abortive attempts to sleep wrapped up in one another, each retreated to separate sides of the bed to sleep.

  * * *

  Downstairs the next morning, Cam stared at his mother in disbelief and amazement.

  “I’ve dealt with it already, Cameron. You did sleep rather late.” Grace handed him a cup of strong coffee.

  “You’re unbelievable! In the time it took me to come up with the idea you’d already executed it. The Marines would appreciate your kind of action-oriented thinking.”

  “Your dad thought so, too.”

  “What do you mean?” Cam asked warily, dropping into the chair next to his mother.

  “Well, he saw me handle a series of awkward situations when he brought some clients here and thought my talents might further his career. No, Joy,” she glared at the snickering woman preparing breakfast on the other side of the kitchen, “not those talents.” She returned her exasperated gaze to Cam. “You’d think after thirty-plus years in the life she’d stop finding innuendo quite so amusing.”

  “Vat can I say?” Joy voiced cheerily, “I luff my verk!” Finished the breakfast preparations, she left the kitchen to ready herself for her first john of the day. Clients still requested Grace and Joy often. Joy just liked to cook in her spare time. And enjoyed dirty jokes and remorseless innuendo.

  “So you worked with Dad for a while. And then you fell in love and married?” Cam asked.

  “Nah. For those reasons, your dad asked me to marry him. He wanted a piece of the action here at Tuesday’s Child and access to free consulting from me. I thought I’d like to try being ‘normal’ for a while, but it just wasn’t in me--not often, anyway. Cagey bastard, your dad. We’re still friends, though.” She smiled fondly.

  Knowing Grace’s tendency to over-share, Cam rapidly brought the conversation back on topic. “So you made one quick call to the local police to tell them the truth about Marco, and poof, no more six-figure debt?”

  “The police are open twenty-four hours a day, son.” Grace blinked.

  “Didn’t you endanger yourself and your clients by taking down the competition? Won’t the mob retaliate?”

  “Racial stereotypes rarely paint an accurate picture, Cam. Not all Italians are mobsters. In fact, Marco offended the mob by pissing off the Tongs, and both organizations need good relations for strategic alliances and joint ventures.” At Cam’s puzzled expression, Grace elaborated. “You’ve lived elsewhere too long. Here in San Francisco the Asians run all the major illegal industries, and many legal ones, as well. The mob caters to them.” She shrugged. “Or they’d get no share of the pie at all.”

  “How did Marco offend the Asians?”

  “He recruited the wrong young Vietnamese boy, the son of a well-connected businessman, and the kid ended up dead. Once the courts place him in gen-pop, Marco won’t survive long enough to get the fair trial he’s entitled to.”

  Cam flinched a little at the coldness in his mother’s voice. His own background sometimes meant taking out a despot or two, but they were all evil men responsible for much suffering and oppression. He had to ask. “And you did this just to save me some money, Mom?”

  Grace shook her head. “That son of a bitch was probably just getting Joshua trained up nice. Eventually he would have tricked him out to some johns with very dangerous tastes. I’d heard Marco wanted to open a specialty house.”

  Cam declined to ask what “specialty” meant.

  “Maybe he figured,” Grace continued, “that by making the deal with you, he’d end up with both of you as part of his stable. I simply couldn’t have that, of course: my son working for the competition? No, way. It hurt my feelings Kevin preferred your dad’s world.”

  Cam shuddered to think of his younger brother “test-driving” both career options before making his choice. "Blood is sicker than water," he moaned. "Where do I re-enlist?"

  Joshua arrived in the kitchen while Grace patted her son’s shoulder. Cam hid his face in his hands.

  “Something wrong?” Joshua asked. “I… I can leave.”

  Grace ran her gaze over Joshua. “Sit. Eat. You’re too thin.”

  Cam removed his hands and smiled at his new lover. Joshua looked gorgeous to Cam, even in the baggy sweats.

  Still patting Cam’s shoulder, Grace issued their marching orders. “You boys need to move out to the old carriage house at the back of the property. We winterized it a while ago, but no one’s lived there in a long time. We’re going to need the attic space back again right away, Cam.” Gazing in wide-ey
ed innocence at her new son-in-law, she said, “Joshua, honey. I need you to bring me all of Marco’s other whores.”

  Cam choked on his coffee. So much for his mother’s altruism.

  * * *

  Cam straightened as he felt a hand slide under the edge of his cut-off shorts and pinch his butt cheek--hard. He hadn’t heard anyone approach over the roar of the electric sander. He turned with care, awkwardly perched partway up a ladder. He peered over his shoulder and saw Joy standing there with a basket of sandwiches in the hand not on his ass. Grace stood behind her with a broad smile and a tray holding a pitcher of lemon-free ice tea and four glasses. He sighed with relief that both of Grace’s hands were occupied. In his opinion, his mother lacked a certain sense of propriety and family boundaries.

  Releasing her hold on Cam, Joy joined Grace at the table by the pool. Joshua stopped painting and joined them. Even at noon, they were the only ones up.

  “No hammering or power tools before two o’clock,” Grace admonished, holding out her hand to confiscate the sander. Cam groaned.

  “Jeez, mommy, I’s a gwown-up now,” he mock-whined.

  “Language, Cam. Watch the fuckin’ language, will ya?” Grace ordered. “Don’t make me call Tiffany--er, Joshua,” she amended in response to the dark look, “to spank you.”

  The four of them sat down to eat. Conversation flowed easily.

  “When can they move in, Cam? Dorm-style living is fast losing its appeal.”

  “Today, Grace,” Joshua answered, barely intelligible around the bite of turkey sandwich.

  “Swallow, Joshua,” Grace said, still in mothering mode. “Nice boys do.”

  “Vell, I guess he von’t haff to now,” Joy declared in withering tones, as she picked from her sleeve the partially-chewed sandwich that had flown from Joshua’s mouth in response to Grace’s comment.

  Cam had managed to choke down, rather than expel, his mouthful. He, obviously, was a nice boy.

  Cam thought back to the day of Joshua’s arrival. Grace had sent them out to locate and relocate Marco’s stable to Tuesday’s Child. Many had scattered or found themselves new protectors as the news of Marco’s arrest and then sudden demise circulated through their little community. Cam and Joshua managed to round up eight of the lost souls and drag them home to mother.

  Of the original eight, four remained. With Grace’s begrudging assistance, two decided to find other types of employment. One returned home to his family who continued to send Grace Currier and Ives Christmas cards for many years to come.

  One self-destructive girl, unable to function in their (relatively) healthy environment, ran away to find someone to treat her badly. Cam hauled her back to Tuesday’s Child at the insistence of his mother, only to find Grace more interested in her antique silver than the poor kid who’d stolen it.

  “You can’t save ’em all, Cam. Just the ones you can.” She’d shared that self-serving bit of advice with her son. It reminded him of Bible class as a kid: “Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s.” “The poor will always walk among us.” Maybe Mary Magdalene wrote Jesus’ best stuff. Prostitutes were very pragmatic people.

  Joshua provided some lay counseling (much to Joy’s amusement). The four who chose to stay developed into well-adjusted young whores. Tuesday’s Child only held so many, and the new kids were stuck living dormitory-style in Cam’s old attic loft. The out-call side of Grace’s business grew considerably, due to the shortage of “crib space.” The additional profit realized from these outcalls pleased Grace greatly, as the overhead was minimal.

  But after a few months, four well-paid young people balked at sharing one room, and worse, one bathroom. The sooner the new quarters were finished, the sooner peace would reign in “Grace-land,” as those unfamiliar with the old poem preferred to call it.

  Cam and Joshua moved into the carriage house that first day. They delayed fixing it up in order to devote themselves to building an extension on the back of the mansion. They’d hired contractors, but the boys worked alongside them, and by the time summer waned, a long tail, designed in keeping with the original architecture, stretched along one side of the swimming pool. It would house the four newest members of the team, and still accommodate two more should the need arise. It really put the “sprawl” in “sprawling Victorian mansion.”

  Grace referred to it as “the east wing,” but a young woman from New York rechristened it “the cribbage” and it stuck. This failed to amuse Grace, but Joy found it hilarious.

  Joshua and Cam lived in somewhat domestic bliss. They gradually arrived at a working definition of “monogamous relationship” that included fucking clients for money on a semi-regular basis. Grace saw to it they were only called on by an elite clientele, and they paid their way doing other domestic chores.

  Amber the bouncer/bartender returned to school part-time, and Cam took over those roles, too, as needed.

  Shortly after that Grace noticed how Joshua waited for Amber each day when she returned from her pre-med classes at USF.

  At first Grace feared, with a mother’s concern, that her son’s boyfriend was interested in the attractive girl, but soon she realized Joshua desperately needed to hear about Amber’s life in academia. So Mama Grace made a few calls--a promised favor here, a veiled threat there--and Joshua re-enrolled, too, pursuing his doctorate once again.

  One night in bed Cam spooned up against his lover, commenting, “Joshua Silver, Ph.D. Sounds very sexy.” Cam felt quite mellow, basking in the afterglow of a rather spectacular blowjob. They’d both seen clients that day, and oddly, a busy working night only increased their desire for each other. Cam needed a break, though. To buy himself some recovery time before reciprocating, he engaged Joshua’s higher brain for a change. “What’s your dissertation on, anyway?”

  “‘Prostitution in Modern Day America.’“ Joshua grinned. “Write what you know.”

  “What were you writing about originally?” Frankly, Cam was a little tired and would have preferred just to blow off the blowing off. His jaw ached a bit from the previous evening with the pleasant but slow-to-finish Mrs. Takashimo-Smythe.

  “Oh, nothing much. Just some obscure thing about South American pottery shards through the ages. They assigned that South American brat, Deolinda, to me because she spoke Spanish.”

  “Oh, her,” Cam said, nosing under his lover’s short curls to nip and lick behind Joshua's ear. He was almost grateful to that little bitch for kicking off the chain of events that had led Joshua to his arms. He nuzzled further into Joshua’s sweaty neck. “Are you disappointed you didn’t finish your first topic?”

  “I assure you, South American pottery shards hold no more interest to me. It cost me a fortune to travel to archeological digs to spend all my time on bits of broken pots. Now, I can generate a substantial income turning tricks and write lube, condoms, and my tuxedo off as research expenses.”

  “You sound just like our tax accountant, Josh.”

  “Well, guess who I spent the evening with? Gotta pay his bill one way or another.”

  Cam chuffed out a soft laugh, beginning to doze off.

  Turning his head, Joshua gently nibbled Cam’s ear. “And, Cam?”

  “Yeah, Josh?” Cam answered drowsily.

  “It’s not gonna suck itself, you know!”

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Grace reviewed the accounts for Tuesday’s Child. She looked up and smiled as Joy entered, just now getting home after a day with a wealthy client. She dropped a tasteful cream-colored envelope full to bursting with cash on the table in front of Grace. “How ve doink?” she asked. She removed the clip-on earrings and rubbed her ear lobes, wincing.

  “Not bad, Joy. Exceptionally well, in fact. Surprisingly, for the second consecutive quarter the boys surpassed the girls in both revenue, and,” she flipped to another screen on her laptop, “profit, as well.”

  “Really?” Joy acknowledged. “I guess ve’ll haff to be changing ze name again, zen, ya?”

&
nbsp; “Changing the name? To what?”

  “Vy, to ‘Sunday’s Child,’ uff course.” In answer to Grace's raised eyebrow, Joy pointed toward the embroidered sampler that had hung in their kitchen since the day they’d opened for business. “Vell, ‘Tuesday’s Child’ may be ‘full uff Grace’,” she quoted, “but ‘Sunday’s Child is fair and wise and good and gay!’”

  ~ End ~

  * A Week in the Life *

  Monday’s Child is fair of face

  Tuesday’s Child is full of Grace

  Wednesday’s Child is full of woe

  Thursday’s Child has far to go

  Friday’s Child is loving and giving

  Saturday’s Child works hard for a living

  But Sunday’s Child is fair and wise and good and gay