Syncopation

by Jodi Payne

  “Dude! The food is fantastic.”

  “Hey, Timmy!” He offered a hug that was returned with enthusiasm. “Thank you. A lot of it is Colt, you know. He’s been cooking.”

  “I wondered. Some of this isn’t your usual New York party eats.”

  “It’s great, right?”

  “It’s fab. Seriously. It’s classy with spice. Totally the two of you on a little plate.”

  He laughed at that. “I like it. I am so jealous that the two of you are going away, can I tell you? I am already looking at a trip somewhere after my solo exhibition closes. It’s good timing now, I guess, since that opens in a couple of weeks, but sun and warm sounds so good.” It was a short run this time, just long enough to get his real fans in and maybe a few new ones. “I’m not sure what I’m doing after that, so that will be a good time to break free for a bit.” Hopefully Colt could join him. Truthfully he was really planning it for the two of them anyway. He almost never traveled alone, which meant he almost never traveled at all.

  Huh. He realized, now that he was thinking about it, that Colt probably wouldn’t be around for closing night of his current show. That was… disappointing.

  “I know, doesn’t it? I know Colt’s planning a busman’s holiday, though. Mostly writing and playing small venues out there with his buddies. We’ll be dead at the studio until after the New Year.”

  “Yeah, he said he’d be writing. I guess those guys are putting him up. I didn’t know they were going to play also.” That was disappointing too, to miss that. He’d love to hear those guys play together live. This show-business thing was often all or nothing. “If the studio is dead until after New Year’s, do you think Colt will come back for Christmas?” Why he was asking Timmy that question, he didn’t know. He wasn’t really, as much as just wondering out loud.

  “He said you were spending it together, but… I mean, he’s going to be flying back like the twentieth, but I…. Whoa. You don’t know, man?”

  His stomach twisted. “What don’t I know, Timmy?”

  “Whether he’s coming home? When he’s coming home? If you two are spending Christmas together? He asked me what I wanted, for fuck’s sake. I know he needs gloves.” Timmy blinked at him. “You need to pay attention, huh? A little bit?”

  “Excuse me? He didn’t tell me, Timmy. I would listen if he told me.” He gave it real thought, tried to figure out what he’d missed. “We haven’t had a conversation about Christmas since—” Since before he’d…. “In a while.” Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure they’d had a conversation about much of anything in a while.

  “Ah, well, you should. He’s thinking presents.” Timmy winked at him. “He needs warmer boots and a coat, if you’re asking.”

  “Thanks.” Why wouldn’t Colt tell him the plan?

  Why hadn’t he asked?

  Truthfully, he didn’t want to know the answer to either of those questions.

  “Did you get some wine?”

  “I had a glass. But I’m eating now. I’m not so good with juggling plates and drinks, you know?”

  “No one is. Timmy, I’m going to go check on Colt. You okay if I leave you?”

  “Totally. I’m going to go chat with the little blond over there.”

  “Oh. Be careful.” He winked.

  Timmy nodded. “Ah. I will. No worries.”

  Kyle grabbed a glass of red wine and headed for the kitchen.

  Colt was singing softly, getting soup into a tureen. He was covered in grease and shining with sweat, working easily with the caterer.

  “Hey, baby.” He went in, holding out the wine. “I brought you something.”

  “Thank you!” Colt grinned at him and took the glass. He drank a healthy sip, then hummed, deep in his throat. “Ain’t that nice? Y’all all having fun?”

  “I am. Will you be done here soon?” Are you going to come out and talk to me?

  “You done with me here, Miss Susan?”

  “You’ve been an amazing help, Colt. Thank you, but we have it handled from here.”

  “Okay, then. Holler if you need me.” He looked down at himself. “I’m gon’ jump in the shower and all. I’m filthy.”

  “Probably a good idea.” He smiled at Colt. “Take your wine with you, loosen up a little.”

  “I’ll see you back down here in a while and see all your company. Go eat shrimp. You like them.” Colt waved and disappeared out the back stairs.

  Go eat shrimp. He could do that. If he could manage to not get into it with Danny, who was hovering over them.

  “Your new boyfriend made these, huh?”

  Oh, good grief. “He did. And he’s not new.”

  “Newer than me.”

  “Mm. Better in bed than you too.” He grinned to soften that a little.

  “Butthead. He’s a good cook. No one’s seen him around in weeks. We thought he was gone.”

  We? Theater folk did love their gossip. He nodded. “He’s in high demand, and he’s been working a lot. It’s all good. Better that we’re not in each other’s back pockets all the time, right?”

  That sounded good.

  “Right on.” Danny shot him an arch look. “Are you keeping him in the kitchen with the staff, or does he get to come out to play with us?”

  “He just went up to shower, asshole. And he liked the idea when I asked him if he would cook. He’s not hired help.” Oh. That came out defensive, dammit. Colt wouldn’t think of it like that. Would he?

  “Whoa.” Danny’s hands went up. “Kyle, I was just screwing with you. He’s one hell of a cook. The shrimp are stunning.”

  “Sorry. Low blood sugar. You know I haven’t eaten a thing yet?” Low blood sugar. Please. He felt like someone had lifted a screen and behind it he suddenly was able to see reality.

  Not now. He was hosting a party. He’d talk with Colt later and they’d fix it. He reached for a shrimp, tasting it. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

  “Keeping this one?”

  “Shut up. Yes.” Yes. If it was up to him, yes. But the dawning realization that some of the best parts of what they were together had already fallen apart was starting to make him doubt.

  “Good deal. Tell him the food is worth paying for.” Danny gave him a wink.

  “You are such an ass, Danny.” To be honest, he’d kind of been the ass. It wasn’t a big tragedy, but Danny probably deserved better.

  “Kyle!”

  He could tell it was getting into the drinking part of the evening as a handful of the younger dancers came over to gush about his house.

  “You have a hot tub!”

  “Did you guys see the glass ceiling in there?”

  “I swear, Kyle, that studio is amazing.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t go in.” He’d locked the door. There was a window in it, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it up. A giant open studio room was better than an orgy to a bunch of tipsy dancers.

  “Spoilsport. The door is locked.”

  “God, it’s amazing. Seriously.”

  “So jelly.”

  Jelly. Good God. He decided not to tell them about the rooftop patio. It was freezing out, and they had to dance tomorrow. He wasn’t that much older than they were, but he sometimes felt like “Dad” had been tattooed on him somewhere.

  “Are you guys having a good time?”

  He was good and surrounded when he caught sight of Colt slipping into the dining room all squeaky clean and shiny-looking. He gave a wave but wasn’t sure whether Colt saw it.

  Timmy had hold of Colt the next time Kyle saw him, walking him around and introducing him to people. Every so often Colt would look at him, smile at him, dark eyes rolling.

  Not long after that, when the caterers had gone and the buffet was pretty thin, the music got loud, and the civilized Thanksgiving celebration turned into more of a house party. He found himself dancing with pretty much everyone but Colt. Jake cut in on Danny, Allison cut in on Jake, Rob stole Allison when Mig stepped in.

  At some
point, he even danced with Timmy, the guy pressing close. “I’m going to head out soon. I have an early flight. It’s been a great party.”

  He was good with that; Timmy was special. “Thanks, Timmy. For… a lot of things.” He hooked an arm around Timmy’s back and gave him a practiced turn around the back sunroom, which was serving as the dance floor. “Did you see where Colt got off to?”

  “He’s sitting in that cushy chair in the foyer, watching people go in and out and making sure if they leave tipsy, they make it to a cab.” Timmy chuckled. “I’m not sure he knows what to do without a guitar.”

  “I’m not sure why he doesn’t have one.” He let Timmy go. “You have an Uber? You need one?” He walked Timmy to the door, spotting Colt and giving him a wink.

  “You going, boo?”

  “I am. My Uber is here. I’ll send pictures from the beach!”

  Colt laughed as he hugged Timmy tight. “You do that. I want to see everything.”

  “Ugh. Send pictures, but expect swear words in response.” He laughed and sent Timmy on his way. “Hope he doesn’t try to fly with green. I’m not going to have time tomorrow to make his bail.” He grinned and leaned against Colt.

  “He’s smarter than that… I hope.” Colt’s arm snaked around his waist. “You having a good time, cher? Did you get good food?”

  “Oh, your shrimp was so good. Everybody said so. Thank you so much for doing that. I’m sorry you got stuck in the kitchen, though. I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He was having a good time. He was so ready for everyone to go home now, though.

  “I like to cook, and Susan is a hoot. I’m glad all y’all liked the shrimps.” Colt rested hard against him, looking lovely in jeans and a white button-down, black hair curling every which way.

  He reached out and twisted a finger into one of the curls, lazily swirling it around his finger. “So we have two choices, baby. Join them, or kick them out.” He laughed. There were only a handful of people left, and he’d bet that once one got the hint, they all would. He gave the bartender a wave and the guy faded the music out.

  Colt laughed for him. “No more music. Guess they have to go.”

  Sure enough, people appeared from upstairs, from the kitchen, and from the sunroom.

  “You guys have cabs? All good? Thank you for coming.” By the time he tipped the bartender and closed the front door, he was pretty done.

  “Do you want help cleaning up tonight? I only have until about noon tomorrow.”

  “No, baby. It can wait. I’m greedy and I want to spend the time with you. Let’s just get the lights.” He couldn’t let Colt leave without…. They needed time to talk.

  They did end up cleaning up a little as they went from room to room, turning lights out. Kyle grabbed an open bottle of wine and two glasses to take upstairs with them. He did the rounds up there too and was relieved not to find someone in the hot tub or sleeping off a buzz in one of the guest rooms.

  “All clear.”

  “Good deal, cher. Good party, hmm? Sit and I’ll rub on your shoulders. You look tired.”

  “I’m a little tired.” He sat just where Colt told him to. He wasn’t half as tired as he was worried. He didn’t know how to start the conversation he wanted to have.

  Colt started working on his shoulders, fingers digging in, working in sure, strong circles, searching out his sore spots unerringly.

  “Danny told me tonight that the dance company thought we’d broken up because you haven’t been out to the theater in a while.”

  “You ain’t been keeping them busy enough, they got time to gossip.”

  “Maybe. I was surprised they noticed. To be honest, I really hadn’t. I just seem to have in my mind how busy you are all the time, so I hadn’t given it any thought.” He sighed. “You know what else I just noticed? You don’t keep a guitar here anymore.”

  Colt found a spot on his neck, working it. “Don’t let them make you sore, cher. You busy. I’m busy. If you just noticed, then it ain’t no thing.”

  Colt’s fingers felt so good but completely out of line with what the rest of him was feeling. He shifted away, trying to hold those dark eyes with his. “It’s a thing, Colt. It’s a big thing. I don’t understand the game you’re playing, honestly.”

  Colt had just been pulling away, little by little, not telling him things just to see if he’d notice? Subtly removing the things that mattered most, like he didn’t deserve them?

  One raven wing dark eyebrow flew up. “I ain’t playing no games with you, cher. Don’t I come when you call, every time? No matter what? Ain’t I here for you, whenever you need?”

  He sat back like he’d been stung. Is that all this was anymore? A really hot booty call? “Yeah, Colt. You do. You come every time I call. I can’t remember you ever saying no. I didn’t understand that was all I was to you anymore. You don’t call me. These days, even Timmy knows more about you than I do, for God’s sake.”

  The expression on Colt’s face was pure confusion. “Timmy sets up my gigs. You ain’t making no sense, cher. You want I should not come to see you?”

  He just stared at Colt, trying to understand what was happening. “What do you want?”

  “Right now to figure out why you’re pissed at me. Is this about your people asking questions about me? I can’t be the only asshole that has to work another job for a living. It can’t be all that weird.” Colt went to sit next to him, hands in his lap. “Is this ’cause I’m heading to Texas? You told me you was super busy for the weeks up to Christmas, and I can get some work in.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m… I don’t know. Confused? Hurt? It’s not about my friends, or Timmy, but if it hadn’t been for talking with them, I wouldn’t have noticed how much distance there is between us these days. And I don’t know what’s worse, really. That you’ve deliberately taken your music, your soul out of my life, or that I’ve been too busy to notice. But we don’t have that connection anymore, and I don’t know what we have, what this is, without it.”

  He knew what he didn’t want, though. He didn’t want someone he could snap his fingers at, who was okay with being treated that way. And he didn’t want for Colt to become that person. He meant too much.

  “You fired me, cher, not the other way ’round.”

  Wait a minute. “Okay, I did fire you. I pulled our number from my show because you were overcommitted, late with the recordings, late to meet me, and totally amped. I don’t work like that. That was business, Colt. Work. Not our personal lives.” Okay, now he was a little irritated.

  “Once. I was late on you once, and you ain’t my boss or my daddy, but you sure took that on, didn’t you? I ain’t worth talking to. You just took it on and told me what was what.” Colt shook his head, looking at him, a deep frown on his face. “Maybe it ain’t personal to you, because you’re used to fucking the cast and they jump when you say. Me, I ain’t cast. You don’ want my music, okay. You don’ think I’m good enough to speak to like I’m over twenty-one and legal, okay. But then you gonna fuss at me for loving on you anyway? Come on, man.”

  Whoa. He had to respect the way Colt just stood up for himself, but now he was pissed.

  “It’s arguable whether I was your boss at the time, but either way, you walked out of there and sobered right up, didn’t you? I don’t regret that at all. As for not being worth talking to? Timmy told me you were asking him about fucking Christmas presents when I didn’t even know if you planned on coming back from Texas. I wasn’t worth sharing your plans with?”

  He stood up and paced away a few steps, needing a little breathing room. “And don’t you ever accuse me of taking advantage of my position and chasing after my company members like a fucking whore. How dare you.”

  “La. I know me a lot of whores, cher. Good folks, for the most part, selling what’s theirs, just like we do.” Colt snorted. “And like you got to chase anyone. Like you ain’t so fine that anyone don’t want you. Ain’t never been better, and don’t we all know it? Shit, you
’re being a lot stupid. We talked on Christmassing together—on a tree and on food. I can’t do that if you here and I’m in Texas on the day.”

  “I know we talked about it, but that was before—and I….”

  Was he wrong? This wasn’t all him. Maybe he did fuck up, but he still couldn’t put a finger on exactly where, and even if he figured that out, it was pretty damn obvious that Colt was more than capable of speaking up and just… hadn’t. He was more disturbed by why it was so easy to just let all of that go than the fact that they had. Did he want it back? Did Colt?

  You didn’t build Christmas on booty calls and not being honest with each other.

  He sighed. “I need a shower.”

  “Okay.” Colt stood up, stepped toward him, and then he backed up, the motion instinctive, immediate. Colt stopped, then smiled at him, the look bittersweet and knowing. “Your body always tells the truth, jus’ like my guitar don’t know how to lie. Love you, cher. Talk at you later.”

  Colt grabbed his backpack from where it was sitting at the bedroom door and headed out of the room, leaving a void there.

  He didn’t go after Colt. Instead he just let the air in the room settle, took a deep breath, and got in the shower, thankful at least for the passion he understood. Colt was right about that; his body didn’t lie, and dancing brought him the most joy. Lovers came and went, but there was always his work, and he was going to be busy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  KYLE SAT in the chilly theater, halfway back in the orchestra seats, exhausted and hurting. He had an elbow on the armrest, his chin in his hand, and his left foot out in the aisle, wrapped and elevated, packed in ice, and resting on a folding chair.

  The X-rays had shown a stress fracture. It was a common, ordinary dance injury, and one that common, ordinary dancers dealt with all the time. But he wasn’t common or ordinary, and he’d known better. The injury was his own goddamn fault. He hadn’t paid attention to his own advice, to the first rule of performing onstage—keep your head in the fucking game.

  Black Friday, indeed.

  Colt hadn’t been gone twenty-four hours when Kyle was due to go back onstage. The show must go on, he’d told himself, and he needed to dance. It was what he did. He’d needed the audience, and the applause, to remind him where he belonged. To remind him of the only true passion he’d ever known before he met Colt.