Life Class

by Scarlet Blackwell

  Taken aback, Harley said quietly, “It’s okay.” Their eyes met for another second before Ryan looked away.

  Harley regarded him silently. The cool, aloof man had shown a chink of vulnerability in his armor. Now Harley liked him even more. He smiled.

  It was another hour before Ryan said, “Can I use the bathroom?”

  Harley nodded, and Ryan hoisted himself up off the bed. Shamelessly, he walked right past him naked, cock and balls swinging gently, disappearing into the ensuite at the back of the room.

  Harley put a hand to his forehead. Control yourself, he told himself fiercely. He would have to hurry the painting rather than stretch it out further, or he was going to end up obsessed beyond all reason with a man who would never reciprocate his feelings. But he didn’t think he could bear to hurry Ryan’s exit from his life.

  His eyes focused on the battered Converse shoes lying by the couch, and his thoughts drifted a moment. Casting a glance toward the bathroom door, he moved over to them, bent and picked one up, reading the size from the sole of the shoe.

  Chapter Five

  The third sitting was a week later. Ryan wondered why Harley was taking so long when his previous artists had always got him done in one sitting. But then maybe that was because they screwed him first sitting and were tired of him by the second. At least he knew that wasn’t going to happen with Harley. The artist was a good guy. He was friendly and generous, no airs and graces about him as often came with money, paying Ryan a decent amount and inviting him to stay again that second time for dinner. Ryan felt more at ease with him than he had with anyone for a long while. It was just a shame that the gulf in class between them meant they would never be friends. He liked the man’s company. Harley didn’t make him feel like a second-class citizen the way some of his other clients had. And when he went to Harley’s house, it was a relief not to have to wonder if he could get it up, let alone sexually satisfy the person who was paying him.

  Harley was down on the terrace when Maria showed Ryan through. He sat facing the ocean, with a tall glass of amber liquid in his hand, a jug of the same in front of him on the table.

  His face lit up when he saw Ryan, a smile crossing it, showing perfect teeth. “Hey. Sit down.”

  Ryan did so, smiling back, pushing his sunglasses into place.

  “Iced tea?” Harley asked.

  Ryan nodded and thanked him when he poured it. The tea tasted of peaches and was ice cold on his parched throat. It’d been a difficult morning. The money from the few shifts he’d managed at the restaurant wouldn’t be due until next week. He was a month behind on his rent again and almost out of food.

  He should be grateful he was a man of simple tastes and didn’t smoke, drink to excess or shoot up drugs, he thought as he stared out across the ocean, like most other people living in his building. He couldn’t afford to have an addiction. He could go to Jamie, who always subbed him, but Jamie was normally in difficult financial straits himself, and these days Ryan hesitated to do it, even though his friend would probably give him his last penny.

  He glanced at Harley, taking in the graceful lines of his profile before he looked away and wondered if he would get fed before he went home.

  “Are you okay?” Harley’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Yeah,” Ryan replied. “Why?”

  “You’re quiet today.”

  Ryan was always quiet. He didn’t believe in filling silences unnecessarily when he had nothing to say. He didn’t see what was so different about today for Harley to have noticed, but the artist was kind of intuitive.

  “I’ve got a few things going on,” he mumbled, taking another drink.

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Ryan turned his head to look at him. Harley’s amber eyes were hidden by sunglasses too. “No.”

  “Okay,” Harley countered softly. “Well maybe I can cheer you up with the present I’ve got for you, then.” He stood and went back into the house, leaving Ryan watching him in bemusement.

  Harley’s study was through there, a bright room lined with bookcases, a desk with a computer in one corner. The artist came back with a brightly colored paper bag and handed it to Ryan.

  Ryan frowned as he took it. “What’s this?” he asked, seeing an oblong box inside.

  “Open it and see,” Harley replied. He sat again, smiling.

  Ryan stared into the bag a moment in confusion. Was this a present? People didn’t buy him presents. At least not without wanting something in return. Was this some kind of bribe?

  He pulled out the box and set it on his knee, noting the Converse logo upon it. He slowly lifted the lid to see the blue and white shoes within. His mouth opened silently, and he looked across at Harley with the frown still on his face.

  Harley stumbled over his words. “I…saw them when I was at the mall and…realized you had a pair the same so…I bought them for you.” He bit his lip, studying Ryan’s face earnestly. His sunglasses were off, his eyes like honey in the bright sunlight.

  Ryan looked at the shoes again and then at Harley once more. He couldn’t stop a feeling of suspicion creeping over him, and it must have shown all over his face because Harley all but withdrew into himself, looking very unhappy.

  “It’s not…” Harley began and stopped.

  “It’s not what?” Ryan demanded, his voice unintentionally hard. “What I think? If it isn’t what I think, then tell me what it is.”

  “I just…” Harley seemed cowed and chastened before him, this normally laid-back, cheerful man. “Wanted you to have some new shoes,” he offered helplessly.

  Ryan lifted his own sunglasses slowly so he could look into the other man’s eyes. “So you didn’t do it so I would be…” He hesitated, choosing the right word, “Beholden to you?”

  Harley’s face suddenly lost the meek look and turned ice cold. He stood abruptly, looking down at Ryan. “Beholden?” he repeated. “That’s what you think? That I would try to buy you into my bed?” He laughed mirthlessly. “If you allowed yourself to be bought with a pair of shoes, Ryan, that makes you pretty damn cheap.”

  Ryan surged to his feet, hurling the box onto the ground, all the anger and injustice and shame at his whoring career rising to give vent for the first time at the wrong person. He squared up to Harley, taller than the other man, staring him down, fist clenched. At that moment, it would have felt way too good to punch him, and it didn’t help that Harley didn’t back down, his eyes blazing almost yellow, pupils constricted to a pinprick in the bright sunshine, the sea breeze blowing his dark hair over them.

  Ryan abruptly regained control of himself. He stormed off the terrace before he could hit Harley.

  He made his way through the study to the entrance hall with the red mist over him, putting his hand up to wrench open the front door before he heard running footsteps behind him.

  A hand slid under his arm then slammed against the door to prevent him opening it, while another wrapped around his bare biceps, clenching it hard. Ryan came to a halt and looked over his shoulder.

  “Please, Ryan.” Harley was breathless, his face full of anxiety. “I just wanted you to have some new shoes, that’s all. I swear I had no ulterior motive. I’m not some pervert trying to seduce you. Believe me.”

  There was a moment’s silence during which Ryan became uncomfortably aware of the heat of the fingers curled around his arm. “Let go of me,” he warned.

  Harley did so, moving back so Ryan could pull open the door. He slid through it without a backward glance and set off down the drive.

  Ryan lay sleepless in bed that night, replaying the scene over and over in his mind, appalled at his behavior. Jesus, he’d almost hit Harley. What was wrong with him? Had he got it all out of perspective? Were the shoes an innocent gift, while his suspicious mind told him everyone was trying to use him for their own ends?

  Now he’d calmed down, he began to see how he’d ruined his chances for any more work, and hence money, from Harley. Then h
e began to think about the worst case scenario if the shoes were not an innocent gift. That Harley wanted to fuck him. Was he even gay? He didn’t seem that gay to Ryan. That aside, what if Harley did want to fuck him? He had to remind himself that, so far, the dude had paid him as much per sitting as some of his female clients had paid to screw him, so imagine how much he would offer Ryan to fuck him?

  He squeezed his eyes shut at this thought and sighed into the darkness. That it had come to this. After he’d turned down an offer to star in a gay porno movie, he was now wondering how much Harley would offer him to sleep with him. What was the matter with him? Had he no dignity at all left?

  In the morning, things were a little clearer. What was clear was that Ryan was an asshole and you didn’t bite the hand that feeds you. Yesterday he could have earned another tidy sum for taking his clothes off for Harley and come back with some new shoes in the bargain. Instead, he’d walked out with nothing. He was the biggest fool who ever lived, and pride did not pay the bills. Doing whatever you had to do to earn money paid the bills.

  He searched for Harley’s name in his cell address book and called him.

  “Hi,” Harley said quietly after a few rings.

  “Hi. Listen…” Ryan’s throat dried up before he could even apologize. He felt like he was always apologizing for being an asshole to Harley. He wondered why the other man even wanted him around. “If you still wanted me to…I could…sit for you today.”

  Harley took a moment to reply, and for a minute Ryan expected him to tell him to go to hell.

  “Sure,” he said finally. “Come by whenever you’re ready.” He hung up.

  Ryan closed his cell and gave a sigh of relief.

  Chapter Six

  Harley paced the floor after Ryan’s call, replaying it in his head. When he thought of the words he’d spoken to Ryan the previous day, he blushed with shame. He’d given away with ease that he knew the rumors of Ryan’s whoring on the side, and Ryan must now know the truth: that Harley was preoccupied with these rumors and that he was hot for him. But clearly Ryan had known anyway, before this. That word he’d used. Beholden. He was under no illusions about their working relationship, try as Harley might to hide his attraction, and Ryan didn’t return it, judging by the fact he’d almost hit Harley. Jesus. How could he ever face Ryan again?

  He couldn’t concentrate on any work. Instead he took a novel down to the living room and laid full length on the couch, enjoying the stillness the peaceful location of his house gave him. All he could hear were seagulls and the gentle swell of the ocean, and he’d barely read a page before his eyes became heavy. He let the book drop face down onto his chest and allowed his lids to close.

  Something woke him up: a feather-light touch on his face beneath his eye, and he stirred, a hand coming up instinctively in his sleep, thinking a spider had crawled onto him. He came back to consciousness quickly and he opened his eyes to see Ryan kneeling by the couch, looking down at him. He blinked in confusion.

  “Sorry,” Ryan said. “You had an eyelash.”

  Harley regarded him in surprise. Ryan reddened and looked away, his gaze straying to the box under the coffee table.

  “You’ve still got them.” Ryan gestured to the shoes.

  “Yeah.” Harley stretched a little, feeling groggy. “They’re too big for me. I could give them to my manager. He’s big like you. Or I’ll take them to the thrift store.”

  Ryan glanced at him before his gaze swept back to the box. “I could…have them if…” he mumbled. He sat back on his heels as though he was aware he was too close to Harley.

  Harley lifted himself on one elbow, regarding him. “Do you want them?”

  Ryan bit his lip, as though the decision tortured him, before he nodded.

  “Then take them, idiot.” Harley gave an affectionate smile. Ryan’s gaze moved back to his, and he smiled hesitantly in return, a smile which contained the apology Harley doubted Ryan could bring himself to make. Which was fine by him because, as far as he could see, Ryan was a troubled, lonely man, and Harley didn’t want to make his life any harder than it was. He wasn’t one to bear a grudge, and besides, with those ocean blue eyes looking at him with such warmth in them, how could he bear a grudge anyway?

  Ryan reached for the box and took off the lid. He brought out one shoe, holding it up, admiring it with almost child-like excitement. Then he smiled to himself and sat, stretching out his long legs and reaching down to unfasten and pull off his battered shoes.

  Harley tried not to look too closely at the faded black socks he wore, a hole in the toe of one and the heel of the other. Should have got him socks too, he thought with an inward, rueful smile. Ryan slid his feet into the shoes and laced them up and then he stood and walked around the living room, admiring his feet, preening and smiling to himself.

  Harley watched him with fascination. Without doubt he could buy Ryan a present every day of the year if it meant seeing a smile like this. Ryan glanced over at him and looked bashful. “I’ll go upstairs and get stripped off,” he said apologetically, as though he were wasting Harley’s precious time.

  Harley’s blood ran hot in his veins. He’d much prefer it if Ryan got naked right then and there and crawled onto the couch with him. That would suit him just fine.

  “Shall we eat first?” he asked, lazy, aroused and disinclined to go up to the studio at that moment and battle his desire to make a pass at Ryan. He could control himself so much better if Ryan had his clothes on.

  “Sure,” Ryan said easily. “I am kind of hungry.”

  Harley nodded and swung his legs off the couch. “I’ll just go see Maria. Make yourself at home.”

  Maria was bustling about the kitchen busily. “My…model…Ryan,” Harley stumbled over how to refer to the other man, “is staying to dinner, if that’s okay.”

  Maria smiled back, eyes bright. “Already accounted for him.” She winked audaciously as she stirred a sauce in a pan. “He’s so beautiful, Harley,” she sighed. “Is he married?”

  Harley frowned because that was something he’d never thought to ask. But Ryan didn’t wear a ring. “I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

  Maria continued to smile. “You like him, don’t you?”

  Harley felt blood rise to his face in a rush. His gaze moved to the door. It was pointless trying to deny it. She wasn’t stupid. “He’s my model,” he told her sternly.

  Maria snorted in derision. “He’s up there taking his clothes off every day and you’re telling me you wouldn’t?”

  If anything, Harley’s face grew hotter. “Shush, Maria.”

  Maria grinned. “You’re a lucky, lucky man, Harley. I hope he likes you too.”

  Harley didn’t reply to that, because it really was wishful thinking.

  They took their meal in the living room, in front of the TV, plates on their laps, Harley thinking Ryan would enjoy the informality of it rather than the best china in the dining room with the ostentatious chandelier. Ryan did seem to enjoy it, clearing his plate then polishing off a large slice of chocolate cake, earning a look of approval and a fond pat on the head from Maria as she served the coffee.

  Harley yawned. He was starting to feel tired and in no mood to start work so late in the evening. And besides, twilight gathered rapidly outside. He couldn’t paint a person’s skin—Ryan’s creamy, perfect skin—by artificial light.

  “Ryan,” he murmured, and the other man turned his head from the opposite couch. “I don’t think I’m going to paint you today. I’m kind of tired. I’m really sorry for wasting your time. I’ll still pay you.”

  If he’d expected Ryan to be angry, he’d underestimated the man. Ryan shrugged and yawned. “I’m tired too. I didn’t sleep so good last night, and I’ve got to say, I’m not much in the mood for getting naked for you.” Now that was a crying shame, Harley thought wistfully. “But seriously, you’ve just fed me. I don’t expect you to pay me when I haven’t done any work.”

  Harley smiled in relief. “Wan
t to watch a movie?”

  Ryan’s face broke into a grin which made his eyes glitter, and his gaze strayed to the vast towers loaded with discs to his left. “Definitely.”

  Harley channel flicked while Ryan chose. At first they argued over who was choosing, Ryan refusing, saying it was Harley’s house and he should choose, but finally giving in. He stood at the shelves perusing the movies in silence for a few minutes, breaking it occasionally with various exclamations of, “No way have you got…” and “Oh, my God, I love this…” to Harley’s amusement. He’d found one thing they had in common. Who said there was a gulf between them, that Ryan wouldn’t look twice at him? But then it wasn’t so much the gulf as which team Ryan batted for, and he could bet his bottom dollar it wasn’t Harley’s.

  Ryan turned from the shelf with an almost embarrassed smile, holding up a DVD, and Harley was further surprised. He would have expected a man like Ryan to choose Rambo or Die Hard or Scarface but no, in his hand he held a copy of Edward Scissorhands.

  Harley gave Ryan a point for the gay camp.

  “What?” Ryan asked. “Do you think I’m a fag?”

  Harley’s smile dropped. He didn’t like that word. Not at all.

  Harley saw instant apology on Ryan’s face as he got up and took the film silently, then bent down to the DVD player. “Hey look, I didn’t…” Ryan fumbled for words behind him as Harley slotted in the disc and stood. “Don’t think I’m… I mean, if you’re… It’s none of my business…”

  Harley turned to face him with a steely expression, almost enjoying his discomfort. “If I’m what?” Like Ryan didn’t already know, after yesterday.

  Ryan bit his lip and looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up.

  “A fag?” Harley suggested sweetly.

  Ryan reddened. He gave a sigh and lowered his gaze. “I don’t care, man,” he muttered.