by TL Gehr
“Of course, sir.”
Philip leads the way into the building and I find myself in a marbled lobby. A chandelier twinkles overhead. I look up, and up, and up. All eight stories. There, right at the top of the building, is a crystal sunroof that pours in slanted sunlight. A woman in a pencil skirt with her hair swept up into a dark bun comes through the wide double doors that lead deeper into the building.
“Mister Arrigo, sir. I wasn’t expecting you back so early.”
“Emma, good. This is Mister Rose. He will be my guest for a few days. I want you to grant him full security clearance.”
My attention snaps from the ceiling back to Philip. If he’s trying to prove he trusts me, that’s one hell of a way to do it.
“Should I have a room set up for him?” The woman asks.
“Not at present. Do you know when my mother will be back?”
“She’s attending tea with the Ladies of Virtue this afternoon. I think she’s expected back at around six. Will Mister Rose be joining the family for dinner tonight?”
“Yes. Have Hristina prepare a place for us. Any word from my father?”
“Actually, he left a message.” She passes Philip a sticky note.
He reads it, nods, then tucks it into his pocket. “That will be all for now. If you can please let me know when my parents return, I’d like to speak to them before dinner if possible.”
“Of course,” she bows her head. “Should I send up refreshments?”
Philip looks to me. “Want anything?”
I shake my head. Even if I wasn’t completely overwhelmed by this whole exchange, I’m still feeling nauseous.
“Nothing at the moment, thanks,” Philip tells her. “Do you want to take Brian’s biometrics now or later?”
The woman looks at me for the first time and smiles a movie star smile. She’s flawless, like she stepped out of a magazine. “I think that’s up to Mister Rose. Do you want to come down to the security office?”
Considering the pain radiating through me, I really just want to get back in bed. Also, his dad terrifies me and I’m not sure this security clearance thing is such a good idea. “Later. Thanks.”
She bows her head. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”
With that, she clicks away in her high heels to go speak to the doorman. Philip doesn’t comment as he leads me through the double doors into a tiled corridor. There’s a staircase to the left, but we walk past it. I’m still playing the “Hotel or Home?” game in my head, so I’m kind of expecting a front desk. Instead, there’re just three tall wooden doors along the hall, separated by side tables with vases of flowers and little china ornaments, and an elevator at the end. We enter the elevator and Philip hits the button for the 7th floor. He looks into a little panel above the controls and a light flickers. Did that thing just scan his eye? Like in a spy thriller?
If this is his home, this is next level.
He’s a billionaire, Brian, what part of that didn’t you understand?
I fidget. What am I even doing here? The game in my head switches from “Home or Hotel?” to “Love or Charity?”. Am I here because he wants to take care of me or because he blames himself for my OD?
“What’s the message?” I ask to give myself something else to think about. When my mind latches on to a negative thought, it’s like a dog with a bone. It will keep going and going and going until either the thought disintegrates or it hurts itself.
Philip shakes his head and sighs. “Malena has a clean record. They can’t pin the theft on her.”
“You think he still… suspects me?”
Philip takes my hand. “I don’t want you to worry about that, okay?” His blue eyes look right into mine. “I’m going to sort it out.”
The elevator pings. He keeps hold of my hand as he leads me into another hall. This one is gentler somehow. A soft gray carpet absorbs the sound of our footsteps. The walls are patterned with geometric shapes in shades of brown and there are no decorations apart from some monochrome photographs in frames.
Philip opens the first door on the left and my heart jumps because I instantly realize this must be his bedroom. It’s in the same muted tones, with wood paneling on two walls and a king-sized bed against the third. White curtains flutter on the far side. Is that whole wall a window?
When I breathe in, I smell Philip, but the room itself is incredibly plain. There’s nothing in here except the bed with its gray linen and two small wooden bedside tables that I’d think were IKEA if not for their clawed feet.
“Please sit. Rest.” He guides me to the bed and helps me take off my shoes.
“Where do you keep… all your stuff?”
He lifts his gaze to mine. “My stuff?”
I gesture to the room. “There’s no Philip here.” I hate that I can’t be more articulate. My apartment is pretty sparse, but I just moved here. This is his room. Shouldn’t there be band posters and discarded musical instruments? TV games, maybe a few old DVDs? Things that tell me about him. There’s nothing of him here. Maybe this really is a hotel. I half expect him to say his stuff is at their main house in the country, but instead color paints his cheeks as he pulls off my boot.
“Um, I’ll show you the rest of the floor when you’re feeling better.”
My jaw goes slack, though I try to hide my surprise. Floor. There’s no stuff here because this is just the place to sleep. This entire gray plush floor is his. Floor number 7 is Philip. Half a city block of Philip.
“Do you need more painkillers?” He asks.
“Not yet.”
“I’ll have Emma get your prescription once you’re settled.” He strides over to the window and pulls open one of the curtains. Honeysuckle and roses obscure out the view.
“Wait, do you have a… garden out there?” I get up again, too intrigued to pay my complaining body any mind.
“Sadly, no. A terrace.”
It’s essentially a wide balcony, but it’s filled with flowers. Roses, mostly. There’s a little bench near the railing and a small table in the corner. It’s like it’s a portal to another world far away from the city. And it looks out over trees.
“Is that… Central Park?”
He doesn’t need to answer. Nowhere else in New York has that much green. He has his own private view of Central Park. This is one of those towers you see when you’re walking there. The ones where celebrities live.
“You’re disgusted, aren’t you?” Philip says quietly. He’s frowning deeply with his eyes fixed on the park. “It’s so much. It’s far too much. When people joke about eating the rich, we’re the ones they mean and I’m not convinced they’re wrong. You’re disgusted, aren’t you?” he repeats, “that I have so much money and do so little with it?”
“No, I’m…” It’s not my aching ribs that stops me from finishing the thought, but that I don’t know how to adequately describe how I feel when I see Philip’s noble profile looking upon his kingdom with such shame. “I’m… surprised you do so much without it.”
He turns his focus back to me, brow creased in confusion. I try again. “You have the cheat codes.” I take a painful breath. “But you don’t cheat.”
“I do sometimes. Today I used money to grease the way. You didn’t need a private room, you were there for a few hours. I should have waited in the waiting room. But no, I had money so I bribed my way into staying by your side. It makes me sick.”
Now I understand that expression he was wearing when I was discharged.
I want to point out that he also paid my medical bills, but Philip says, even more quietly, before I can, “I’m going to give it all away.”
“The money?”
His gaze is urgent and dark. “When they pass, it will all be mine, and I will give it all away. Every bit of it. It could do so much good out there…” His hands fist. “I’ve never told anyone this before. I keep a list of charities. I research them in my spare time, to make sure they’re legit. I have a whole plan for it.
You know, with that degree they made me get? I’m serious. I’m not going to keep any of it.”
Philip is searching my expression like he’s looking for something. Approval? Why would he need my approval? There are no words for just how much I approve, at least nothing I can articulate with such limited breath. So I step forward and kiss him. I wrap my arms around his neck and I kiss him with as much passion as I can, trying to pour into that kiss just how wonderful I think he is. He opens himself to my kiss and our tongues dance together. We’re bathed in afternoon sunlight and all I can smell is honeysuckle and the man I love. It’s perfect. A perfect moment. My eyes fill because it’s too much. After I thought I lost him, it’s too much to be here in his space, in his arms, him trusting me with his secrets. I almost tell him I love him when we end the kiss, but I’ve never said those words to anyone before and they stick in my throat. He’s too good for me in every single way. I will bask in his affection for as long as he’ll let me, but I’m not going to try pin him down with words or promises. This is enough. Every moment he gives me is enough.
He helps me into bed and we lie beneath fluffy eiderdown while we kiss. My cock stirs, but there’s no way I can do anything about that with a broken rib. This isn’t my first broken rib. I know what the limits are and right now breathing is enough of a challenge. He strokes my hair and my sides and whispers how happy he is that I’m here. Does he mean in his bed, or alive? I think it might be both. I reach for his crotch and find him hard, as I expected.
I squeeze him, determined to show him everything I cannot say, but he takes my hand and presses his lips to my palm. “You want to watch a movie?”
“I want to get… you off.”
A flash of dimples. “No chance. You can’t even say it without straining yourself.”
He gives me one last kiss, then reaches for a remote control on the bedside table. A beep sounds and then a flat screen television rises out of the base of the bed.
“How… where was that?”
“Neat, huh? It was my birthday gift from my parents last year. It took some convincing because of course we have the home cinema downstairs, but I…” He trails off and clears his throat. “Anyway, I have Netflix? What do you want to watch?”
I want to follow up on the topic of the home cinema—Does he have a real movie theater in his home?—but I think he’s embarrassed about it.
He brings up Netflix and I see his list of recent watches ranges from action movies to foreign language art films.
“This screen must be… real good for porn,” I say. He laughs and the sound is worth the pain it took to make the stupid joke. I’m surprised to see the color flush his cheeks again. He didn’t seem that shy when he had his face buried in my behind. It’s cute. I should tease him about porn more often.
He scrolls through the suggestions. “What kind of thing do you like?”
“In porn?”
“No! I…” he sees my smile and laughs again. This really will be fun.
“Bareback mostly… Sometimes bondage.” I enjoy watching him squirm. It doesn’t help that I’m still horny from making out. I’m not going to get physical release any time soon, so this will have to do.
He stares at the bedclothes and even though he’s still blushing furiously, a little smile plays about his lips. “Have you ever…”
I wait for him to get the question out, but he doesn’t seem capable of it. He glances at me, then locks his gaze on the bedclothes again.
You can ask me anything, any time, always, I want to say, but I settle for, “Ask.”
“Have you ever done them? Those things?”
This conversation is doing nothing to ease my erection. The way that he’s asking means he likely hasn’t. Not that it’s a surprise. I already know how fucked up his sex life with Chase was and I can’t imagine his boarding school boyfriend was up for much adventure.
“Light bondage,” I admit. It was quick and dirty, with a belt around my wrists. Not like the hardcore stuff in porn. I don’t know if I’d want to do that, to be that powerless, but maybe if Philip was the one fucking me… my cock agrees, that’s definitely something I might be into.
“I haven’t,” Philip says. Now he’s fidgeting with the cover. “I haven’t done much.”
He doesn’t know what a turn on that is, the potential of sharing those firsts with him. I turn his face gently to mine. “Yet.”
His smile makes my stomach do cartwheels.
In the end, we settle on the new Bladerunner movie, because I haven’t seen it (I don’t have the breath to explain I haven’t seen any recent movies) and I really enjoyed the first one. He puts an arm around me and I snuggle in to his chest.
“The old lady next door will let you in. Tell her I sent you and that Brian’s fine… yeah, I’ll explain later.”
I open my eyes. The room is dimmer, but it’s not quite night yet. The movie is frozen on Ryan Gosling’s face with water dripping from his nose. Philip is pacing by the window, talking in hushed tones, probably trying not to wake me.
“Yeah, just grab clothes, toothpaste, phone charger, whatever you think he’ll need… at least a few days… no, I haven’t yet… yeah… don’t remind me… okay… thanks, see you soon… yeah, I know.” He ends the call.
“You having someone break into my apartment?” The question is broken by grunts. The painkillers are wearing off. I’m worried he might think I’m serious.
He sits on the bed and smiles. “Yeah, Jones.”
Oh god. What the hell will she think of my little squat? What kind of mess did I leave? Did I vomit everywhere? What will she think of me? My panic must reflect in my expression because he says, “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her what happened. I would have gone myself, but I’d rather not leave you and I just sent Emma to collect your meds.”
Philip puts on the movie again while we wait for her, but I struggle to focus on it. Philip isn’t like other rich people. He might assume that other people will be as decent as he is, but in my experience that isn’t the case. I mean, did he even see my apartment? We were kind of distracted.
The movie’s just ended when someone knocks at the door and Jones strides in, swinging my backpack in beat with her ponytail.
“Special delivery for the lovebirds.” She thrusts my backpack into Philip’s arms and he hugs her.
“Thanks, I owe you one.”
She turns to me, prone on the bed. “Hey Brian. You look like shit.”
“Hey. Thanks.” At least that doesn’t require much effort to say.
She plops herself down on the end of the bed. She’s wearing black slacks and a silk blouse the same color as her hair with little red flowers embroidered along the neckline. “There were like three shirts and a pair of jeans. You have stuff at the dry cleaners? Or was there some secret storage hidden somewhere?”
“Um, no… that’s it.”
“Also,” she glances at Philip, “there was a pile of cash in that bag. Wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I just brought it along. What, you rob a bank or something?”
My stomach leaps. I feel the color drain from my face. Will Philip think that’s The Spindle money? It’s only a couple hundred but will he start suspecting me again?
“Wages.” I tell him, desperately. “Promise it’s…”
“It’s alright, she’s joking. Don’t speak.” To Jones he says, “Brian’s got a broken rib, he can’t really talk at the moment.”
“Now’s the part where you tell me what happened. He didn’t even have his phone or wallet. They’re in the bag. Were you mugged?”
“No…” Philip pauses. “I broke Brian’s rib.”
When her eyes go large, I remember how Chase accused him of abuse and add quickly, “Unintentionally.” I want to tell her how he saved my life, but it’s too long a story for how much pain I’m in.
Jones stands. “Wait!” She’s grinning and she has her hands out. “Wait wait wait. Is this a sex thing? Does he have a sex injury?” She doesn’t wait for P
hilip’s answer before she throws back her head in laughter. “God, Philip, when I said one of you was going to explode I didn’t mean literally. This is the best thing ever.”
“You’re not telling anyone.”
It’s so simple. Philip didn’t even have to lie. He didn’t have to make up anything to cover my overdose, to avoid revealing to his friend that I’m a drug addict. He just told a partial truth and let her do the rest.
“What do you mean I’m not telling anyone? I’m telling everyone.” She pulls out her phone and starts typing, but he snatches it from her hand.
“No one!” He holds the phone over her head and makes her jump for it.
“Just Gunther. Gunther will love this. It will make his year.”
“If you tell Gunther, he’ll tell everyone else.”
“So what? Everyone will know you got laid. There are worse things.”
“Everyone will know that I injured my boyfriend.”
She stops jumping for her phone and all humor disappears from her expression. Again, the headlines flash before my eyes and I know that Jones must have realised the same thing. “Yeah, okay. Of course,” she says.
Philip passes her her phone and she tucks it into her pants. “You told the folks about him?”
“And your folks too, as it would happen. I’m surprised they haven’t told the whole club already.”
Jones shrugs. “Well that’s because I’m guessing they don’t know that you broke his rib while having wild sex with him.”
He gives her a stern look, but it’s full of dimples. She hugs him. They’re really close. Like sibling close, I think. Yet, she doesn’t know about The Spindle. She doesn’t know about college.
College. It’s Wednesday. “What time is it?” I ask.
Jones checks her phone. “It’s just gone five. Dammit. I said I’d join Mom at one of her things tonight.”
Five. The time Philip should be leaving The Spindle. My heartbeat accelerates.
“When you’re at this ‘thing’, I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t mention my guest.”
“Oh?” She looks between us. “Oooh a secret stowaway. Gotcha.”
