by Tinnean
I shook my head. The appetizer, soup, and salad courses were done—I’d been given spring rolls instead of shrimp cocktail, vegetable barley soup instead of French onion, and Russian dressing instead of vinaigrette and had had to send everything back—and the entrées brought out. I poked at the prime rib that had been one of the choices for entrée. I’d requested it medium rare. This was so done I could have used it to sole my shoes.
“They got that wrong too?” Paul scowled.
The waiter flushed, and his gaze darted to Jay, who pretended he hadn’t seen. I shook my head again. I wasn’t surprised to find he was behind my selections being changed. It was the petty sort of thing he’d do. And he’d leave the waiter swinging in the wind.
“I’ll exchange your order, sir.” The waiter reached for my plate.
“Don’t bother.” I could picture someone spitting in my food or doing worse. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Jesus, if they want you to share the names so badly, you’d think they’d know it was in their own best interest to be nice to you, Sweets.” Paul’s voice was loud enough to be heard at the tables that surrounded ours.
“Y’know what, Pretty Boy? I’m not in the mood to party. I’m going home.”
“Y’know what? Me too. Come on, Spike.”
“Why don’t you leave sugar buns here with us? We’ll show him a real good time.” Jay waggled his eyebrows salaciously.
“Give it a break, why don’t you?” I was so tired of this bullshit.
He got to his feet so abruptly his chair tipped over. “Why don’t you stay the fuck out of it? He’s got a tongue. He can talk for himself.”
“Spike?” If it was what he wanted, Paul would have no choice but to let him stay. We’d both been protective of our youngest rent boy—somehow, at Spike’s age, we’d been so much older—but we couldn’t always be there for him.
Spike tucked his hand into Paul’s arm. “If I want to be shown a good time, I don’t have to go any further than my own backyard.”
“You’re not in Kansas, Toto.” Jay did tend to get snippy when things didn’t go his way.
“Spike, Junk.” Everyone knew that Jay’s name was actually the initial of his favorite recreational drug. “My name is Spike.” He sent a smile around the table. “Good night, gentlemen.”
“Yeah. Uh… good night, gentlemen.” Paul and I contained our grins until we turned away.
“When did you get to be so sharp, baby?” Paul asked him.
“I’ve always been. You were just so busy looking out for me, you didn’t pay attention. Are we going to say good night to Le Roi?”
“I suppose it pays to be politic.” I went up to the main table. “You’ll have my decision in a few days, Le Roi.”
“You’re leaving? I hope it wasn’t something I said.”
In his dreams. I bared my teeth in a smile that was as false as his and left, Paul and Spike on my heels.
“Well, that was a waste of a perfectly good occasion to get dressed up.”
“Why don’t you two go dancing? It’s still early, and none of our johns will be calling tonight.” They all knew that on the night of the Escort Ball, none of us would be available.
“What do you say, baby?”
Spike rubbed his cheek against Paul’s shoulder. “I’d like that. We’ve never gone dancing, and that was the one thing I was really looking forward to tonight. Well, that and putting names to all the faces I’ve heard you mention.”
“What did you think of them?”
“They’re all so old.”
Paul and I exchanged startled glances. “Most of them are younger than us.”
“Are they? They seem so much older.”
“Don’t let them hear you saying that. The plastic surgeons in this area will be mobbed. Come on, baby. I’ll take you to the Bee’s Knees. You sure you don’t want to come along, Sweets?”
“Y’know something? I think I will.” Who knew? Maybe I’d even find someone to hook up with for the night. It had been forever since I’d had sex for the fun of it.
The Bee’s Knees wasn’t a rent boy hangout, so we wouldn’t be recognized as high-end escorts. It had opened years ago, around the time of Stonewall, and catered to the gay population of the DC area. The men’s room had the usual row of urinals, but it also had more stalls than the average men’s room, and they were large enough to hold two.
I didn’t have sex, but I did have fun. I flirted and danced, and danced and flirted, and cute guys wanted to buy me drinks.
“You’re not getting blitzed, are you, Sweets?” Paul whispered.
“Nope. I’m just very, very relaxed.”
“If you say so.”
“Paul, they’re playing our song.”
I blinked. Smokin’ in the Boys Room? Paul grinned and shrugged and let Spike drag him back onto the dance floor.
I shook my head and turned back to the cute guys at the bar. I thought about making out with one or two of them, but even so… relaxed… my eyes were crossing, I knew better than to do that.
Paul and Spike finally came up to me, laughing. “I think it’s time to take you home, Sweets.”
“Hey, no! He promised me this dance.” A tall guy wearing a GWU sweatshirt had his arms wrapped around me.
“Some other time, maybe. Paul says I have to go home now.” I kissed his cheek. “Thanks for a wonderful evening, baby. Toodles.”
“Toodles?” Paul snickered as he hailed a cab and poured me into it. “Oh, Sweets, I am never letting you live this down.”
“Live what down?” I blinked at him. “Are you laughing at me, Paul?” I enunciated each word clearly.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sweets.” He coughed. “Move over so Spike can get in.”
“Okay.” I moved over, then curled up against him and began to doze. It seemed like almost immediately a hand was shaking my shoulder.
“Come on, Sweets.”
“Five more minutes.”
“We’re home.”
“Oh. ’Kay.” I crawled out of the cab and onto the sidewalk.
“Here we go.” Paul and Spike each took an arm and hoisted me to my feet, making sure I stayed on them and didn’t topple over as we headed up the stairs to our apartment.
My feet kept trying to tangle and trip me, but my good friends—God, they were my best friends—kept me upright.
“You guys’re the best, y’know that?” I sniffled. I planted a wet kiss on Paul’s cheek and then did the same to Spike’s.
Paul patted my shoulder. “We know, Sweets.” They got me to my room.
I shrugged off their hands. “I can walk on my own two feet.”
“You sure?”
“’M sure.” I waved them off, and once they saw I was aimed in the right direction, they disappeared, presumably into their own room. I wove across the floor, shedding my tux and leaving the pieces to lie where I dropped them, and fell face forward across my bed.
I WOKE up so hungover I wanted to shoot myself. My head pounded, there was a sour taste in my mouth, and my stomach kept trying to project itself out of my throat. Sometime during the time we’d spent at the Bee’s Knees, I’d switched from strawberry daiquiris to 7&7s to Jamaican Dust. How many drinks had I had?
I managed to stagger into the kitchen.
Paul was pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Jesus, you look awful.”
“Don’t mock the afflicted.” I groaned and sat at the breakfast bar. “Even my eyelashes hurt! Why did you let me drink so much?”
“But you were having such a good time.” He laughed at my glower but was kind enough to muffle his laugh when I winced at the sound. “Sweets, the only way to get that glass out of your hand would have been to break your fingers.”
I folded my arms on the bar and buried my head in them. “Next time, I give you permission to break my fingers. That has to be less painful than my head right now.”
“There, there, little buckaroo.”
“Bastard. And how come you ar
en’t in the same shape as I am?”
“We ate more than you. And around midnight Spike and I switched to Coke. Everyone thought we were drinking Cuba Libres and didn’t bust our chops.” He put a couple of ibuprofen in front of me, and a glass of orange juice.
“You could have told me.” I downed the pills and the juice, and for a second wasn’t sure if they’d stay down. When it seemed they would, I sighed in relief and asked, “Where is our little ray of sunshine, anyway?”
“He’s out on a ‘date.’”
I groaned again. “I can’t see anyone today. I’m calling in sick.”
“We don’t have sick days, Sweets.”
“Fine. Then I’m calling in dead.”
He patted my shoulder. “Why don’t you go back to bed? We’ll hold down the fort.”
“You’ll have to. The johns wouldn’t like it if I threw up all over them. I’m going back to bed.” I staggered to my room, fell into bed, and pulled the covers over my head, praying the whole while I would die.
It was around nine that evening when I woke again, this time feeling like I just might live. There was a note for me on the breakfast bar:
I’m not as good a cook as you, Sweets, but anyone can follow the directions on a box. I made you a pot of chicken noodle soup. Nuke it and have it with some crackers. I looked in on you a couple of times, but you were dead to the world. I picked up your tux and had “our little ray of sunshine” take it to the cleaners. Shame on you! It was a wrinkled mess. Spike and I are working a double with the girls downstairs. We’ll see you in the morning. Toodles. Paul
Toodles? Was he out of his mind?
I took a shower, had a couple more ibuprofen to be on the safe side, and ate the soup while I watched television. After Jay Leno finished, I caught up on some bookkeeping, then went to bed.
I CALLED Tim the next day and explained the situation.
“Who’s Le Roi this year?”
“Charlemagne.”
“I don’t know the name.”
“He came in after you’d left.”
“Do I detect a note of dislike?”
I should have known he would pick up on it. “Tim, he’s one of the handsomest men in town, period, full stop. The first time I saw him”—I wasn’t going to mince matters—“I wanted him. And I was flattered that he wanted me. The thing is, he felt the same way—that I should be flattered because he wanted me.”
“He doesn’t think much of himself, does he?”
“You’ve got that right. Anyway, I realized I’d made a mistake and left as soon as I could. He called a few days later, said he wanted to see me again.”
“And you turned him down.”
“Yeah. He wasn’t happy about it”—I wasn’t going to go into detail about just how unhappy he’d been about it. The… affair… would have ended sooner or later, but he would have been the one to end it—“but he didn’t make a big deal over it. If anyone wanted details, I’d give them a look and ask why they wanted to know.”
“Ah. The old Dear Abby gambit.” I could almost see his nod.
“Yeah. And I heard Charlemagne would tell ’em that everyone knew rent boys weren’t built for relationships and happily ever after.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s no skin off my nose if they want to believe him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m a big boy.”
“But this happened when? Ten years ago?”
“I was a big boy then. I didn’t need you coming to my rescue. You’re Cris’s white knight, Tim, not mine.”
“You never were as young as you looked. I wish….” He sighed.
“Me too, but things are the way they are, and wishing isn’t going to change them. Anyway, let’s just say that if I were in the street and the Westbound 36 bus was heading for me, it wouldn’t break his heart if it hit me.”
He let me change the subject. “So Charlemagne isn’t your biggest fan. What happened at the ball?”
“I’ve been hearing rumbles, but on Sunday he actually made a demand. Well, he probably would have called it a request. One of his gripes is that it’s just the three of us.”
“Are you planning on taking in any more boys, Sweets?”
“I’ve looked around, but it’s been a real hassle lately, Tim.” I didn’t like the defensive note in my voice, and I cleared my throat. “All they seem to want is money for drugs.”
“That was always a problem.”
“It didn’t seem to be until just recently.”
“You sound like you’re getting burned out, Sweets.”
“Maybe I am. I don’t know what to do.” Although the one thing I did know was that I wasn’t going to see a shrink!
“Have you given any thought to getting out of the business? You’ve got the property, and you should have enough to live on comfortably.”
“Yeah. And I’ve got my accounting degree, and Paul has his nursing license. In a pinch we could fall back on those. The thing is, we’ve been doing this for so long.”
“Twelve years now, right? That’s way longer than the average rent boy. Longer than Cris and me. Why don’t you give each of your clients a call, explain the situation, and see how they feel?”
“I guess so. We don’t want to shut down—if we do shut down—leaving any hard feelings.”
“I’m glad you see it that way.”
“That’s why you put me in charge.”
“Wise guy. Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.”
We talked a bit longer.
“How’s your new place in Savannah?”
“It’s good. Better than Atlanta. The Always Reddy Pub. Cris named it. Can you believe that?”
“Clever.” Reddy was Tim’s last name.
“Yeah. My boy surprised me. So when are you coming down to see us?”
“Probably in a few weeks. After spring break, definitely.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Sweets.” I could hear his name called. “I’ve gotta go. Take care of yourself now.”
“You too. Hi to Cris.”
We said good-bye and hung up.
Paul was out. I’d talk to him about it when he got in, and we’d see where we went from there.
Chapter 10
I TOOK a late call and was out all night, and when I returned the next morning, Paul was sleeping. I went right to bed.
When we finally talked it over, Paul agreed with Tim that we should let our clients make the call. “We really can’t take care of them all anymore.”
“And who they fuck probably won’t make much difference to them one way or the other. They’ll have a hole to stick their pole in.”
“Whoa! Someone is getting burned out, isn’t he?”
I scowled. That was twice in the same week someone had said that to me.
He studied my face, then came to me and hugged me. “I’m sorry I teased you, Sweets. I’ve got Spike to get me through the rough patches, but you’re alone.”
I shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’ll be okay.” He ran his palm up and down my back. “You’ll find someone someday.”
“Sure, Paul.” I wouldn’t, but I closed my eyes and let him comfort me.
THE BEGINNING of the end started on an ordinary day, with an ordinary phone call, four days after the ball.
“Mark Vincent has spoken very highly of your services, of your discretion, and I’m willing to pay to have the best.”
“Where are you? Spike is on call—”
Spike looked up from the comic book he was reading.
“—and I can have him there—”
“Oh, no, no! Vincent recommended Pretty Boy. He recommended him very highly. I’ll pay double his fee. Triple.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” I shook my head, and Spike went back to Alien vs. Predator.
“Oh, no, I must insist. Vincent has told me such wonderful things. I’m quite sure I’ll get my money’s worth.”
<
br /> “You will. Pretty Boy is excellent. For that amount, you’ll have him for the entire afternoon.”
“I’ll only need him for an hour or so.”
“Okay.” If this john wanted to pay that much, I wasn’t going to discourage him. I scribbled down the amount on a pad and showed it to Paul. He raised an eyebrow in surprise and nodded enthusiastically. “However, I’m afraid we no longer have gentlemen here in our apartment.”
“No, no, I understand. That’s quite all right. I have a room here at the Gist.” It was a motel that wasn’t part of a chain.
I wrote it down. “And where is that?” He told me. “Just a second, please.” I covered the phone. “Paul, I’m not sure about this neighborhood.”
“It can’t be any worse than ours.” He grinned. “For three times what I usually get I’d go to the Black Hole of Calcutta.”
“If you’re sure…. Okay. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” I said into the phone. “Pretty Boy will be there in three quarters of an hour.”
“Splendid, splendid. I’ll be in room 227.”
I jotted it down. “And your name, sir?”
“Oh, of course. How forgetful of me. My name is Michael Shaw.” He laughed softly. “Yes, Michael Shaw. Good day, young man.”
“You believe him about the name, Sweets?” Paul asked when I gave him the slip of paper with the address.
“No. What I’ll believe are his fifteen Benjamin Franklins. Get prettied up. I’m going with you.”
THE MOTEL was clean enough. We went up to the second floor room and knocked on the door.
The man who opened it was probably in his early fifties. His brown hair, while thinning, was neatly styled, and he wouldn’t have been bad-looking except for the grooves that cut into each side of his mouth, pulling it down.
“Michael Shaw?” I asked.
He didn’t seem pleased to see two of us. Maybe that was what gave his mouth its petulant twist. “Which one of you is Pretty Boy?”
