by Tinnean
“Sure, John.”
Afterward, he dressed, paid me, hugged me, and walked out of my life.
THE FOLLOWING year, Tom and Mike decided to start their own stable. I gave them their share of the business, and they moved out to Los Angeles. The Kid went with them. Tangerine had long since decided he liked drugs more than the comfort of our family, such as it was, and last I’d heard, he was hustling on Seventh Avenue in Manhattan.
TWO MONTHS after Congress convened in 2000, Delilah met a man who asked her to move in with him. In spite of his promises that she could leave the business, she was still tricking.
BY LATE summer of 2001, our stable thinned out to three—Paul and me, the last of the original boys, and Spike, who Paul had found on the street, another kid whose family had thrown him out like so much trash.
“He followed me home,” Paul murmured as he made him a sandwich. Spike looked up quickly, brushed the platinum hair out of his eyes, and tried to look tough.
Paul fed him, made sure he had a bath and washed the mascara and eyeliner from his eyes, and then put him to bed in his room, much the same as he’d done for me all those years ago.
We stood in the doorway, watching as the boy slept.
“Poor kid. Would you believe he bleached his hair because some john told him he looked like Spike on Buffy, and that would make him look more like Spike?”
“Is that why he was sucking in his cheeks all night?” I shook my head. “Were we ever that young?”
“I’m gonna stay in tonight, Sweets. Okay? I… I don’t want to leave him alone.”
“Sure, Paul.” I made sure I had keys and money in my pocket. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Who’re you seeing tonight?” He grinned when I told him. “Lucky dog! I’ve been dying for him to call me.”
“Want to take him?”
He gazed at the boy in his bed, a little smile on his lips. “No. Not this time, Sweets. You’ve got your phone?”
I patted the cell phone clipped to my belt and left to keep my “date.”
ALTHOUGH I’D successfully managed to persuade Pretty Boy to overlook my twenty-seventh birthday on January 1—being three years closer to hitting the slippery slope of thirty made it a less than fun occasion—2002 didn’t start well. A few days into it, we were stunned by the news that Delilah Carson was found murdered in her condo, stabbed numerous times. We’d worked a threesome with her just a week or so before. Her boyfriend had set it up. She’d been uncertain of her john, unusual for a woman with her experience, and wanted the encounter filmed, so Pretty Boy and Spike worked with her, and I hid out in the crawlspace and filmed it. After the john left, she’d laughed at her nerves. “Neal was so jumpy about this; it must have rubbed off on me.” But she’d agreed when I suggested making copies of the tape for insurance.
I’d never had the chance to give her the tapes.
Her boyfriend was the prime suspect, even after his body was discovered on the sidewalk at the back of her building with his face smashed in, having apparently hurled himself from the roof and done a face-plant on the concrete below.
“Remorse!” the newspapers decreed. They had a field day, going into loving detail over the many knife wounds, any one of which could have been fatal and all of which had bled profusely.
Spike was as white as his hair. Paul looked sick. I felt hollow myself.
“Right,” I said after her funeral. “We’re going out of town. On vacation.”
“Disney World?” Spike asked hopefully, color coming back to his cheeks.
Disney World was in Florida. “How about Disneyland instead?”
“I’ve never been there.”
“That’s settled, then.” I booked us a flight out to California. “Do you want to stay in the park or in Anaheim?”
“Can we stay in the park? It’s gotta be more expensive, but….”
“We can do whatever we want.”
After the first couple of days of touring the various parks, Paul and Spike began to find excuses to stay at the hotel.
“You don’t mind, do you, Sweets?”
“Just make sure you leave the room long enough for housekeeping to make the bed.”
“Why? We’re just gonna mess it up again.” Spike tried for tough, but he fell short of it, hitting adorably naughty instead, but that seemed fine with Paul.
I laughed and shook my head and went back to Main Street, USA. I really loved that place. I bought a cone at one of the ice cream parlors along Main Street and sat at an outside table, watching the crowds stroll by.
“Excuse me.” A young man stood beside my table. He might have been my age, maybe a little younger. Not that it was important. Age was simply a question of mind over matter. He had ash-brown hair and the most amazing blue eyes I’d ever seen. Although he was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, I could tell by his bearing that he was military. “All the tables are taken. Do you mind if I share yours?”
“Help yourself.” I liked the way that shirt fit over his torso.
“Thanks. My sundae was starting to melt.” He sat down and took a spoonful. “I didn’t realize it would be so crowded.”
“This is the normal state of affairs for Disneyland. The best time to come is during Magic Mornings.”
“Oh? What are they?”
“If you’re staying at one of the park hotels, you can get in before the parks are open to the general public.”
His face fell. “I’m staying at the naval base.”
“In San Diego? I had a feeling you were a military man.”
A blush colored his cheeks. He ducked his head and took another spoon of ice cream.
“You’ve got some whipped cream on your nose.” I leaned forward with a napkin and wiped it off.
“Thanks.” He looked away, but not before I saw a small smile and the blush rise up again. He did blush easily.
“My name is Paul,” I said, stretching my hand across the table. We shook hands, and I grinned to myself. What would Paul think of me appropriating his name?
“Hi, Paul. My name is… er… you can call me Al.”
A horse-drawn streetcar was passing by, and I watched as kids bounced in excitement and parents smiled indulgently. I took a lick of my strawberry cone and glanced at my companion, to find his eyes fastened on my mouth.
I took another lick and wondered if I were in the mood for a busman’s holiday. “Have you been to Disneyland before, Al?”
“A long time ago, when I was a kid. My dad took me. It’s changed so much. How about you?”
“This is my first time.”
“Oh! Maybe I could show you around?”
“Sure. It’s more fun doing stuff with someone else.”
He gave me a shy smile, pulled a map from his back pocket, and spread it on the table.
We went on the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, waited in line for two hours for the Indiana Jones Adventure—that was worth it, if only because he kept clutching my arm in the dark and ducking his head against my shoulder—then strolled from Adventureland to Tomorrowland and rode the cars of Autopia.
“Do you want to go on Space Mountain?”
“Um….” He was suddenly pale.
“Or we could go to New Orleans Square and see if we can find the Haunted Mansion from there, if you’d rather?”
His sigh was relieved. “The Haunted Mansion, if you don’t mind.”
We walked back. I bought him a set of Mickey Mouse ears, and he bought me a Goofy hat. We entered the Haunted Mansion, and this time we took advantage of the dark to hold hands.
“That was fun.” Al was laughing when we stepped out into the dimming sunlight. “Oh! I didn’t realize the time.”
I glanced at my watch. “Do you have to go yet?”
“No.” There seemed to be a hint of defiance in that one word.
“Come on, then. The Blue Bayou is right this way, and I’ve had dinner reservations since this morning.”
His cheeks pinked. “Dinner sou
nds good.” But he swallowed when he opened the menu. “Maybe we should go someplace else?”
“Isn’t there anything on the menu that appeals to you?”
“It’s not that.” He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “It’s all a la carte. I… I didn’t expect it to be this expensive.”
“Don’t worry about it. My treat.” He looked a little uncomfortable. “Al, my friends bailed on me, and you saved me from being bored with my own company.”
“But… the cost….”
One of the first things I’d learned was not to make a client uncomfortable, and even if he wasn’t a client, Al still deserved my consideration. “Al, cost isn’t a problem. However, if you’d rather go somewhere else, that’s fine with me.”
“But what about your reservations?”
“Someone else will take them, that’s all.”
He looked around wistfully. “I’d like to eat here, but I just can’t afford it on a… a sailor’s pay.”
And he obviously didn’t feel right about me paying for the whole thing.
“Y’know what? There’s a place in Tomorrowland that has decent pizza. What do you say we go there? We could take the Disneyland Railroad.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all,” I lied. I’d been looking forward to the Blue Bayou’s steak Diane since I’d heard about it at our hotel. I flagged down our waitress. “I’m sorry, we have to leave.”
She looked alarmed. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine.” I slipped a twenty into her hand. “For your trouble.”
“Thank you. I hope you’ll be back.”
I smiled at her. Maybe the next day. If I was lucky, Paul and Spike would be ready to come up for air at that point. Otherwise, I’d give Tom and Mike a call and see if they wanted to come down from LA and have dinner with me.
We found the place that offered pizza and both ordered a couple of slices, washed down with soda. The pizza was hot enough to burn the roof of my mouth. Strings of cheese extended from the slice to my mouth, and I had to break them off with my fingers. Al had sauce on his upper lip. I wondered what he would do if I licked it off.
“This has been a fun day.” He sighed happily and used a napkin to wipe his mouth.
“It has. Can you stay for the fireworks?”
“Oh, yeah!”
“Cool. Once we’re done, let’s see if we can find a good spot.”
Fantasmic, the water, laser, and fireworks display, was fabulous and breathtaking. We leaned against each other and pointed out particularly amazing sequences.
I didn’t expect the evening to end with sex, although I did wonder about kissing him. I walked him toward the parking lot.
“I had a great time today, Paul.”
“So did I. I’d invite you back to my hotel room, but….”
He was shaking his head frantically. “I have to go! My… my ship is sailing.”
“Well, thanks for keeping me company today. Have a safe cruise.” I straightened his mouse ears before holding out my hand, but instead of shaking it, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching and pulled me close. I knew my gaydar couldn’t have been off—not only had he not slugged me when I’d reached for his hand in the Haunted Mansion, but there was also the way he’d grabbed me and squealed during the Indiana Jones ride. I offered him my mouth.
His kiss landed beside it, on my cheek. Deliberately.
“Good-bye, Paul.”
“Good-bye, Al.” I sighed.
He hurried to his car, gave me a final glance and a wave, then got in and drove away.
The smile on my face felt wistful. What would it be like to spend a day like this with someone I knew I’d be going home with?
Oh, well. No use wishing for the moon. I walked back through the thinning crowds to the hotel where we were staying.
Chapter 9
WHEN SPIKE joined us, he’d still been new enough to the business that he enjoyed having sex with different men and getting paid for it. Both Paul and I had tried to make sure he didn’t get the johns with a more… esoteric taste in sex.
I’d known that occasionally, after we got in from work, Spike would sleep in Paul’s bed. I’d seen Paul’s eyes when he looked at Spike, when he thought I wasn’t watching him, and I’d hoped he wasn’t setting himself up for a world of hurt. He was ten years older than Spike and had that much more experience under his belt.
It turned out that, even at his age, Spike knew the difference between fucking and making love. Before that vacation, he and Paul might have been friends with benefits, but when we came back from Disneyland, they were definitely lovers.
“Y’know what? Why don’t you two take a few more days off?” I suggested, feeling slightly envious. This was as good as their honeymoon. “I’ll deal with the traffic.”
“Thanks, Sweets.” Paul hugged me.
“Yeah, thanks.” Spike kissed my cheek, grabbed Paul’s hand, and dragged him off to the bedroom that would be theirs from now on.
THERE WAS some grumbling among the other stables when it was seen that we weren’t taking in any more boys—I looked, but I just didn’t have the energy or the ambition to screen them.
There was more grumbling that we wouldn’t share the little black book Tim had taken such pains to compile, and which I’d long since transferred to a data CD, with backups just in case one was corrupted, scratched, or broken.
It came to a head at the annual Escort Ball on St. Patrick’s Day, which was the one time all the high-end rent boys gathered. The weeks before were usually a riot of activity, as the election of the king of the escorts was held and all plans for the ball were solidified.
The three of us arrived at the Dolley Madison room of the Madison Arms—the hotel’s largest ballroom—dressed in our tuxes. Spike had come to us after the last ball, so for Christmas, Paul had had a tux custom made for him, and while he’d worn it especially for Paul the day he got it, this was the first time he was wearing it in public. He was excited. Paul was excited for him.
I was bored.
The room was set up with cutouts of leprechauns and rainbows ending in pots of gold. The centerpieces on each table were bowls of shamrocks. Lush green draperies hung from all the windows.
The band was playing something fast and bouncy, and Paul let Spike drag him onto the dance floor. While they grooved to the music, I went looking for our table. I noticed we had been placed at some distance from the table where Le Roi, the title given to the man voted king of the escorts for the year, and his court would sit. Someone definitely wasn’t pleased with us.
And I couldn’t have cared less.
This year’s Le Roi, who went by the professional name of Charlemagne, was a muscled redhead with movie-star looks. The stable he ran provided boys who resembled—or who had surgery to enhance what had started out as a minimal resemblance—some of Hollywood’s most notable stars. They were handsome and skilled, and Paul had been insulted on Spike’s behalf that no attempt had ever been made to recruit our youngest rent boy away from us, but I’d found them to be some of the most snobbish, elitist boys I’d ever rubbed up against.
Charlemagne and I had fucked once, before I realized there was nothing behind his dazzling façade that I wanted on a regular basis. I’d turned down his subsequent request for a repeat encounter, and that had pissed him off. He was the one to end things, not the recipient of his attention, who should have been uttering prayerful thanks for being selected in the first place.
Le Roi sought me out, which surprised me. Considering the placement of our table, I would have thought he’d do everything in his power to emphasize the fact that we weren’t in favor with the current king and his court.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries dipped in venom that would have done the Medici proud, he got to the heart of the matter.
“You’ve got all those names, and there’s just the three of you. You have to spread the wealth among the rest of us.”
&
nbsp; “I’ll give it some thought.” As reluctant as I was to concede him anything, he did have a point. I’d call Tim and see what he thought of the idea.
“Do that.” He bared his perfect white teeth in what only the most optimistic would deem a smile. He ran his gaze over me in a way that left me naked, and then he turned away, the curl of his lip giving the impression that what he had seen left him limp.
I knew the truth of the matter, though. The heat in his eyes had revealed it. He still wanted me, and he wasn’t happy that he did.
I smothered a yawn. Well, that was his problem.
“What was that about?” Paul and Spike, flushed and grinning, came up behind me.
“The natives are getting restless. They think we’re hogging the best of the johns, and they want us to share.”
“What are we going to do?”
I shrugged. “Right now, I’m going to have a strawberry daiquiri. What do you feel like?”
“My usual.” That would be a Brandy Alexander. “What do you want, baby?”
“Um….” Spike looked excited. He still had a hard time believing that, although he was under legal drinking age, no one in this room would deny him anything. “Can I have Sex on the Beach?”
One of the boys at our table overheard. “I’ll give you sex anywhere you want it, sugar buns.” And he leered at Spike.
Spike flushed. Paul moved him to stand between us. “I think we’ll come up to the bar with you, Sweets.”
“Good idea. It looks like they forgot to have the exterminators in before they set up for this affair.”
The instigator made as if to rise from his seat, but the escort sitting next to him put his hand on his shoulder, restraining him. “Let it go, Jay.”
Jay scowled but subsided. Although there was no physical resemblance, he reminded me of Jaybird. Maybe that was why he got on my last nerve. Or maybe it was just because he was an asshole.
When we returned from the bar, Paul sat Spike between us.
The boys at our table made a point of excluding us from their conversations, but when Paul and I spoke to each other, I could see they strained to overhear what we were saying. Did they think we’d drop names?
