Chapter 16
ON SATURDAY Zachary arrived at the shelter a bit early. He was surprised to find that Joe wasn’t around but other volunteers had stepped up to keep the operation on the rails. One of them—Lamar something—told Zachary that Joe said he needed a little breather from everything. “He runs himself ragged here, so I’m glad he’s taking some me time,” Lamar observed, and Zachary agreed.
Vic let him into Joe’s office, and Zachary settled down to work on the donor records. He spent an hour updating information about the contributors and their donations and then printed a series of thank-you letters and organized them for Joe to add a personal, handwritten note and signature. He was alone, and suddenly curiosity overwhelmed him. The office door was open, but the computer screen faced away from the door, so no one would see what he looked up. He quickly ran a search on Thomas Scarborough.
“Holy crap,” Zachary whispered at the list of large cash contributions Thomas had made over the last two years. It had to be more than a million dollars.
“Zachary, hi,” he heard and looked up to find Thomas himself standing in the doorway. He knew his face had turned red as he worked the keyboard quickly to close down the computer program, and he prayed Thomas would write it off to surprise. They hadn’t been in the same room in weeks—not since that night in Thomas’s apartment—so his blush could easily be attributed to that rather than his snooping.
Or to the longing he still felt at the sight of Thomas’s face.
Zachary stood up. “Hey, Thomas. How have you been?” His voice was stiff and formal, and Thomas clearly heard the edge. Zachary felt a surge of remorse and guilt when he compared his reaction to Thomas to how he felt around Sam.
God, what is wrong with me?
“I’ve been good,” Thomas answered cautiously. “Busy, though. The Senate is taking a recess soon, so a lot of legislation is getting pushed before everyone leaves town.”
“Does that mean you get a break too?” Zachary asked as he tried to think of a polite way to escape Joe’s office and bring the encounter to an end.
“Not really, though my phone won’t ring as much with a daily crisis. Well, it looks like you were busy. I won’t keep you.” Zachary was relieved when Thomas turned and started to leave, but then he hesitated and looked back. “I miss running into you at Mata Hari,” Thomas said in a softer voice.
“Yeah, I just needed a break,” Zachary answered. He forced himself to look at Thomas directly. “I’ve started seeing someone.”
Pain immediately flashed through Thomas’s eyes. “Oh, that’s great. I hope it works out for you,” Thomas said, his voice a bit raw as he looked away from Zachary. “I’ll let you get back to it,” he muttered.
THOMAS STALKED down to the kitchen, intending to run an inventory on pantry supplies so he could restock what was running low. Visions of Italy splintered and broke apart in his mind’s eye, and his chest hurt. He hadn’t realized how much hope he’d poured into his dream of Zach on a terrace overlooking the sea… until the dream was gone.
Goddammit. It’s your own fucking fault.
But he wanted to yell anyway. At Charles. At his parents. At himself.
He slammed open the kitchen door and then became aware of the wide eyes on the tall, thin teen working at the kitchen counter. “Sorry, J,” he muttered and took a deep breath. “I’m just in a pissy mood. Ignore me.”
Jamayqua looked down at the vegetables she was chopping, but said nothing. Thomas stepped into the pantry and worked through the preprinted lists Joe used to determine what goods were needed. By the time he finished, he was back in control.
He returned to the kitchen and said calmly, “Jamayqua, I’m heading to the store soon. Is there anything special you want me to pick up, besides what’s on Joe’s checklist?”
She looked up under her bright-red bangs, barely met his eyes, and asked in her soft, deep voice, “Is everything okay with Joe?”
Thomas tried to look reassuring. “He’s fine, really. He’s just going through a bit of personal stuff, and he needed to recharge the batteries. He’ll be back soon. But in the meantime, you know if you need anything, you can ask me or Vic.”
Jamayqua nodded and kept chopping. Thomas started to go, but she called out, “Could you maybe pick up some cumin seed and coriander? I have some ideas for a couple of dinners, but we don’t have much in the way of spices.”
“Of course. I’m happy to do that. If you send me a list of spices you’d like in a text, I’ll pick them up this evening.”
“Thanks, Thomas,” she said, nearly in a whisper.
As he walked back to his car, Thomas thought about Jamayqua’s question. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Joe Mulholland,” he heard over the line, but the voice was unusually subdued.
“Hi, Joe. It’s Thomas. How are you?”
“I’ve been better, darling. We’ve decided Terry should stay elsewhere for a little while, until we see if we can work this through. He’s moved in with David James and his partner Brandon. I’m not sure whether you know them.”
“Oh, Joe. I’m so sorry,” Thomas murmured. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, to talk or not as you please? I’m running to the store for the shelter, but I’ll be wrapped up by eight.”
“You’re a dear man, but I don’t want you to feel you have to get in the middle of this,” Joe said. “Terry is your friend too.”
“I can listen without taking sides. I’m good at that. And honestly you’d be doing me a favor. I’m feeling down myself, so maybe we can cheer each other up.” It was a bit manipulative of him to hint that he needed Joe’s company, but it was also true. Alone he’d do nothing but think about Zachary moving on.
Joe chucked drily. “We’ll either perk each other up or drag ourselves down together. But I choose to take the offer at face value. Why don’t you pick me up when you finish the grocery run, and we’ll try that new Indian restaurant in Cleveland Park?”
“Great. I’d love some chicken tikka masala. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”
By the time Thomas reached the wholesale market, Jamayqua texted him a variety of spices. There wasn’t room in the shelter’s food budget for those items, so he’d just pay for them separately. Jamayqua really had an interest in cooking, and he thought about some chefs he knew around town who might be willing to take her on, maybe give her some experience and direction.
And speaking of Jamayqua… he thought about the troubles she was encountering with the restrooms in her school. Someone needed to address the controversy that some political factions were drumming up over whether students could use only the bathroom of their birth gender. A few states handled the matter directly, but there were many cries for federal involvement from people on both sides of the issue. There was an opportunity there, Thomas thought. He needed to talk to his committee chairwoman about pursuing some research.
It felt good to focus on something positive instead of hating himself for his uselessness over Zachary.
Chapter 17
“CORIANDER, TURMERIC, allspice….”
The man with the silver-rimmed glasses reviewed the text message from someone whose phone number registered as Dwayne Horton but whom his Beloved had stored in his phone as Jamayqua. The ghosting program, which he had finally managed to install on his Beloved’s phone by attaching a Trojan virus to a spam e-mail, worked perfectly. It had taken him weeks to break the encryption protocols installed on the government-issued cell phone, but he was finally in. He felt so much calmer, so much closer to his goals.
He scanned the list of e-mail messages and the phone log and was happy there appeared to be no recent contact with the Zachary creature. Nor did he find signs of anyone new. That was hardly surprising, given the Beloved’s resistance to providing his contact information to his playthings.
On the other hand, he was almost disappointed. He wanted to try his new machine out, give it a practice run before he put his endgame into motion. He consi
dered the one who had bothered his Beloved recently at Mata Hari. Though his video feed lacked sound, he’d had a clear view of the cretin’s lips and had made out the words “You’re too old for me anyway.”
The slight infuriated him, quite aside from its ridiculousness. His Beloved was ripe and mature like the best wine. He was a paragon among men. Yes, that churl might be just the candidate.
He tilted his head as he considered the implications of The Rule. Had the boy irritated the Beloved enough? Had he been marked out for punishment for daring to speak again to the Beloved? He studied the recording of the Beloved seated on his bar stool, but found no clear guidance in his actions before the police detective stepped into the image to speak with him. He concluded the woman’s interruption was all that prevented the signal from being given and that he should indeed chastise the irritant.
His little trick with the boy from the dance club seemed to have turned serious attention away from the Beloved, as intended. If it was what the Beloved wanted, he could risk taking that insulting young fool. He made a note to himself to follow up. He just needed to remain careful and find ways to throw off the police, who had announced they were looking for a possible serial killer. He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of the term.
Of course, even with the police watching for patterns, there was one thing he simply couldn’t bear to change in the manner of his chastisements. With each punishment he learned so much. His pulse began to throb as he turned away from his array of computer monitors and got up to check again that he had assembled the new device correctly.
The padded bench was solid. He shook the apparatus with all his weight, and it barely moved. The leather cuffs for wrists and ankles, with their thick buckles and their hooks to keep the legs elevated, were attached to the bench with extra bolts. No one was getting out of those.
And as for the heart of the machine, well, it took his breath away. The large Lucite rectangle on its heavy steel pedestal gleamed and caught the late afternoon light and prismatically shed rainbows on the leather bench. Inside the box, shiny gears and pistons were intentionally left visible around the engine he had chosen. The design specifications called for less horsepower and torque, but for what he had in mind, those safety concerns were irrelevant. The steel rod he had used was three quarters of an inch in diameter and extended from the mechanism by two feet—again, more improvements on the designs he had purchased over the Internet. Nestled inside its Lucite coffin, the machine was heart-stoppingly elegant and sleekly dangerous.
To complete his tests, he positioned clamps on either side of the bench. He was careful to protect the leather as he used the clamps to secure an inch-thick block of plywood. The rod glinted about a foot away from the surface.
He activated the small remote control device he had made, and the gears began to turn on low. They caused the rod to extend and retract, extend and retract. He shivered. The movement was as smooth as ice. The end of the rod merely tapped the wood each time. It left slight dents but no more damage than that. On low.
His heart beat faster, and he let the tension build with each stroke of the piston. He grew hard inside his pants.
Tap—tap—tap.
The steady back-and-forth motion of the rod, the clean turning of the gears, and the shimmer of light were almost unbearably exciting. He was close to coming without even touching himself.
Tap—tap—tap.
When he could hold off no longer, he pressed firmly on the button for high power and the machine gained speed and force.
Tap—tap—TAP.
The end of the steel rod punched cleanly through the plywood, and sawdust burst into the room from the neat hole left by the rod. With each further stroke, the rod plunged in and out of the same hole, and the man pictured someone in place of the plywood. Some creature like Zachary Hall, subjected to his glorious machine….
He squeezed his eyes shut as he hunched over and ejaculated into his pants at the image he had created. Ah God, he was almost ready.
Chapter 18
ZACHARY’S E-READER dropped to his lap, and he realized once again that he had lost the thread and momentarily nodded off. Truth to tell, he was bored in his apartment.
The last two weeks, he and Sam had gotten together for dinner and a little fooling around almost every evening that Zachary wasn’t working at Rainbow Space. The Star Trek marathon that Sam had suggested for the teenagers was a hit, though Sam himself had to beg off at the last minute for a business trip. When Sam returned to town, though, the absence seemed to have prepared him to go a little further. Their make-out sessions got hotter, even if they were still fully clothed, and Zachary thought he might want to push the envelope a bit and try to get Sam horizontal so he could explore that nice, lean body he felt under the expensive shirts and trousers.
Not that night, though, since Sam was on another business trip for a few days to help a client with something IT related. Zachary didn’t know if Sam sold them software or set up systems for them or something else techy. Whatever. When Sam was in DC, the job gave him a lot of flexibility and, from the looks of his apartment, was quite lucrative.
Zachary was enjoying Sam’s company, but it surprised him that, left to himself for a few nights, he wasn’t sure how to keep himself busy. He called Vic about stopping by the shelter, but Vic said there was nothing going on that needed Zachary’s help and he should go out and enjoy the early May weather.
So Zachary tried but failed yet again to get into a book he had downloaded onto his Kindle. He finally tossed it aside in disgust and flipped channels on the TV, but he paused no longer than a few seconds on each. Soon the remote joined his discarded Kindle. He had already memorized his sheet music for the Gay Men’s Chorus; besides, he didn’t want to think about the chorus because it reminded him of how cold Howard had been since the night of the bad date all those weeks ago. He also didn’t want to call his parents and face yet another grilling on whether he had met any nice girls at the fictitious church he told them he attended.
At eight o’clock Zachary gave up on trying to amuse himself and headed for the Metro into DC, just to be around people. It had been several weeks since he’d been to Mata Hari, and he was ready to risk facing Thomas.
I hope.
At the bar he scanned the good-sized crowd as he removed his light jacket and stored it with the coat check. No sign of Thomas, which made him feel simultaneously relieved and disappointed. No Joe, no Terry, but Miss Ethel was at the piano.
Randy gave a slight grin when he spotted Zachary at the bar. Without asking he poured a seven and seven and slid it toward Zachary. “Hey, kid. Haven’t seen you around much in a while,” he said.
“Ah, you know. I’ve been trying to get the feel of the city,” Zachary said as he took a sip. “But this is still my favorite bar. I missed hearing Miss Ethel play.”
“Yeah, she was a good hire. Thomas was right about that one.” Randy rapped his knuckles twice and started to turn away. Zachary couldn’t help himself from taking the door Randy had opened.
“He’s not around tonight, huh?” he asked, knowing he was transparent as all hell. “I haven’t seen him for a few weeks. How’s he been?”
Randy stared at him for a minute. “Good, I think. He hasn’t been in much these last few weeks either.”
Zachary couldn’t let it go. “Oh? I thought this was his main hangout.”
Randy shrugged. “Used to be. Probably still is. He just needed a change. Anyway, he’s in Geneva this week for a conference on some environmental shit, so he won’t be around till the weekend, I figure.”
Zachary sipped his drink. Randy apparently decided the conversation was over, so he moved on to tend some other customers, and Zachary took himself to the piano to enjoy Miss Ethel’s playing.
“Hey, sugar,” she said. “I thought you forgot about me.”
“No way,” Zachary said with a smile. “I’ve been a little busy, but no one does Nina Simone like you. I needed a fix.”
Sh
e chuckled a bit. “Do you play, sugar?” she asked.
“A little. Nothing like you, but I’ve studied some.”
“Any four-handers?” Zachary named some Debussy and Fauré pieces, and she nodded.
“I know the Fauré. Come sit by me, sugar. Let’s give it a try.”
“Randy won’t mind? It’s a bit more, uh, formal than you usually play.”
“Let’s give these gents some class. What d’you say?” she prompted, and Zachary slid onto the piano bench next to her.
It took him a minute to warm up, but soon their hands were gliding through a few movements from the Dolly suite. When they finished they received some nice applause. A few people came to the piano to add to Miss Ethel’s tip bowl.
“That was real nice, hon. I think I’m going to take my break now,” she said.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Zachary asked.
“Well, why not?”
Ethel and Zachary made their way to the bar. “That was impressive, kid,” Randy murmured as he served them. “I had no idea you could play.”
“Thanks. Miss Ethel was covering up my mistakes, though. She made me sound much better than I actually am.” Zachary clinked glasses with her as she laughed.
They talked for a bit about the four different regular gigs Miss Ethel worked, and then she returned to the piano for another set. Zachary stayed at the bar but turned to listen to her play.
He was surprised when Randy said behind him, “Too bad Thomas wasn’t here for your performance. He’s really into music. On the board of a performing arts center in Maryland. Stuff like that. He’d be impressed.”
Zachary turned to face him, surprised not only about the information regarding Thomas, but that it came from Randy. “That’s really interesting. I didn’t know he was a music lover, but then, I don’t know much about Thomas personally.”
Every Breath You Take Page 15
