Baja Honeymoon

by Roland Graeme

  “At least you’re honest about it.” Rick giggled inanely, as though a thought had suddenly struck him. “You said gay men are assholes. I just bet they are. I bet that’s the first thing you notice about another man. His ass.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Have you noticed mine?”

  “I have, as a matter of fact. It’s very nice.”

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.” Rick stood up. He was definitely unsteady on his feet.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Ken demanded.

  “Home.”

  “Not in the shape you’re in. You can’t drive.”

  “I can walk home from here. I can come back and get my car in the morning.”

  “Well, you’re not walking home alone. I’ll go with you.”

  “You think I can’t make it on my own?”

  “Let’s just say that’s how the smart money would bet.”

  Rick staggered a bit, then grabbed hold of the back of a chair to support himself. “Oh, I feel a little dizzy,” he complained.

  Ken jumped up and hurried to his side. “Come on. You’re not going anywhere just now. You’d better lie down. Let’s get you into bed.”

  He led Rick to his bedroom. Leaning on him, Rick offered no protest or resistance. Ken was guilty of certain common careless bachelor habits. He hadn’t bothered to make the bed when he got up that morning. Without turning on any lights in the bedroom, he unceremoniously tipped Rick onto the mattress, then pulled off his shoes and covered him with the top sheet and blanket. Emitting a groan, Rick rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow.

  “Do you feel sick?” Ken asked. “Like you’re going to throw up?”

  “No” came the pillow-muffled reply. “Just drunk. Like I’m going to pass out.”

  “Well, go ahead and sleep it off. You’ll be all right. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Go to sleep.”

  “You,” Rick mumbled.

  “Me what?”

  “You’ve got the hots for me, don’t you?”

  The question took Ken by surprise. “You don’t hear me denying it,” he said, speaking as much to himself as to his unexpected overnight guest.

  “I know you do. You’d like to suck my cock, wouldn’t you?”

  “Let’s table this discussion until you’re sober, shall we?” Ken said, not without humor.

  “I’ll let you. Suck my dick, I mean. You can do it if you want to.”

  For a split-second, the devil hovered above Ken’s shoulder, whispering in his ear, tempting him. Ken shook the devil off, got a grip on himself, and retreated behind sarcasm. “Thanks, buddy. I’m sure in your present impaired condition, it’d be an unforgettable experience. It’s very generous of you to make the offer. Hang onto that thought, will you? And we’ll see if you’re still so eager when it’s you talking, not the booze.”

  Rick let out a groan.

  Standing there beside the bed, Ken waited until he was sure Rick had fallen asleep. Then he retreated into the hallway and quietly closed the bedroom door.

  In the bathroom, he got ready for bed. Next, he raided his linen closet, grabbing an extra pillow, a flat sheet, and a blanket from the shelves.

  In the living room, he stripped naked, dropping his clothes onto the floor, and made up his sectional couch as an improvised bed. He turned out the light and lay down, and was surprised to discover that the makeshift sleeping arrangement was, in fact, rather comfortable. He’d never actually slept on the couch, except for a few isolated instances when he’d dozed off while watching TV.

  He thought about Rick, lying there unconscious in his bedroom, in his bed. If Rick had been a gay buddy of his who’d had one too many, Ken would have put him to bed, all right, but then he would have thought nothing of getting undressed and climbing into the bed right next to him. Two men could certainly sleep together in the same bed without having sex, although in Ken’s personal experience, it hadn’t happened too often. On the other hand, there was such a thing as a hangover hard-on. It was entirely possible that these two theoretical men would get it on together in the morning, driven by their mutual need to fell a couple of stands of morning wood.

  It’s better this way, playing it safe, Ken told himself. I wouldn’t want to risk Rick waking up in the middle of the night and getting all freaked out, finding me lying there next to him.

  Of course, I’m assuming that he would freak out. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’s more open-minded than I’m giving him credit for.

  What a night. I’ve got Deacon Rowe, the hot young actor, sleeping in my bed. And he actually offered to let me suck his dick for him. Too bad he was falling-down, sloppy drunk at the time. Still, I suppose a lot of guys would be envious of me right now. And a lot of guys wouldn’t be as scrupulous as I am. They’d have taken advantage of the poor bastard.

  But not me. I’m better than that. I hope.

  With a wistful smile on his lips, Ken slept.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A GODDESS CALLED FAME

  KEN WAS sitting at his kitchen table, enjoying his first cup of coffee of the day, when he heard sounds coming from the bedroom and bathroom, sounds suggesting that Rick had finally roused himself. A few minutes later, he wandered into the kitchen. He looked rather more pulled-together than Ken had anticipated. He was unshaven, though, which made him look very sexy.

  “Good morning,” Ken said. “Coffee?”

  “Please. Maybe I should just tilt my head back so you can pour it directly into me. Is it really morning?”

  “Yes. Bright and early, as they say. The start of a new day.”

  “You’re disgustingly cheerful. What, exactly, happened last night?”

  “You tied one on, I put you to bed, and I slept on the couch. Trust me, it was all perfectly respectable—and nothing indecent took place, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not worried about that. I feel ashamed of myself for inconveniencing you.”

  “I wasn’t inconvenienced. I enjoyed having you here. You needed somebody to talk to, somebody you could feel comfortable with. I’m glad I can be that person. How hungover do you feel, by the way?”

  “Not as much as I probably should.”

  “Good. Sit down and have something to eat. I’m making myself an omelet. Want one?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I’m putting everything in mine. Bacon, green onions, cheese, mushrooms. What do you want in yours?”

  “I’ll have the same as you’re having, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. Help yourself to coffee and juice.”

  “Are these croissants from the Serenis’ bakery?”

  “Yeah. I get all my baked goods from there.”

  “That Rosa is a lifesaver. I’m hungry.”

  “Eat up, then. Try some of that jam on your croissant. The omelets will be ready in a minute.”

  They sat and ate. There was nothing wrong with Rick’s appetite, Ken noticed. That was a good sign. He wondered if Rick remembered that conversation they had just before Rick passed out. He decided to test the waters.

  “You look kind of sexy, not shaven like that,” Ken said.

  “I feel kind of grubby. I’ll have to shower and try to make myself presentable when I get home.”

  “It really doesn’t bother you that I’m gay, does it, Rick?”

  “Of course it doesn’t. Why should it?”

  “I don’t know. Well, actually I do know. I’m kind of attracted to you. You must be aware of that.”

  “I am, and it’s very flattering.” Rick popped another piece of buttered and jam-laden croissant into his mouth.

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “It doesn’t bother me at all. The question is, how much does it bother you?”

  “I’ll try not to go around in a constant daze of unrequited lust.”

  “Good. I don’
t see any problem, then.” Rick took a sip of his coffee, then looked at Ken quizzically. “Did I do or say anything last night, when I was smashed?”

  “What do you mean? Anything what?”

  “I don’t know. Anything stupid that may have offended you. You know, any snide remarks about you being gay.”

  “No, nothing at all.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  Ken decided it was time to change the subject. “What are your plans for today?”

  “I guess I’m going to have to bite the bullet and return Eva’s calls. Get together with her, if she wants to. See whether we can talk our way through this fucking mess and work it out.”

  Ken wasn’t sure how any amount of talking could erase the indelible mental image of Eva’s recent shipboard coupling. But he wisely kept this thought to himself. After a moment, though, he did speak.

  “Rick, I’m not usually in the habit of offering unsolicited advice….”

  “Consider yourself solicited, then. What do you want to say to me?”

  “Only that you’re not the first guy who’s been in a relationship that didn’t work out the way he hoped it would, the way he assumed it would. I know things seem bad right now, but trust me, things will get better and you will get over it.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  Rick eventually left, and Ken went about his business. He had mundane concerns to occupy his time. Some plumbing repairs needed to be done at one of his properties, and he met with the plumber on-site to get an estimate.

  Not for the first time, he thought that his life was uneventful compared to Rick’s, and distinctly unglamorous.

  He had just finished his meeting with the plumber when he got a call from Rick.

  “I’m going over to Eva’s house later this afternoon,” Rick reported. “It’ll just be the two of us. Not counting the couple of dozen reporters and cameramen who, she’s already warned me, are camped out on her doorstep as though they’re laying siege to the place. She says she feels like a prisoner.”

  A prisoner of fame. A prisoner of her own stupidity. But aloud Ken said, “That’s too bad. But at least you two will have a chance to talk.”

  “Yeah. Wish me luck, will you?”

  “Of course. That goes without saying. And let me know how it goes, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “Call me, if you want to, no matter how late it is.”

  After he hung up, though, Ken wondered exactly what form this “luck” he had wished Rick might take. Did he really believe that a reconciliation between Rick and Eva would be in his friend’s best interests?

  Early in the evening, Ken received a second call from Rick.

  “How’d it go?” Ken asked.

  “I’ll tell you when I see you. Can you come to my place? Have you eaten yet?”

  “No.”

  “I can make us some dinner. Nothing fancy. Will you come?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now?”

  “I’ll leave right away.”

  This brief conversation hadn’t revealed much about Rick’s state of mind.

  Ken walked the short distance to Rick’s apartment building. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to see a familiar-looking beat-up car parked right in front of it. As Ken approached the building’s entrance, the photographer and the journalist he’d met that first time he and Rick had gone to Gallaghers jumped out of the vehicle and hurried to intercept him.

  “Mr. Dargomizhky!” the tabloid writer yelled, sounding beside himself with excitement.

  Ken almost glanced back over his shoulder to see whom the man was addressing before he realized the man was talking to him.

  “How about a statement?”

  “Huh?” Ken asked. The photographer, true to form, already had his camera in Ken’s face, snapping away nonstop.

  “As Mr. Rowe’s drama coach, you and he must be pretty close, aren’t you? How’s he doing?”

  Ken couldn’t believe it. These morons hadn’t bothered to check their facts. They really thought his name was Alexander Dargomizhky and that he was Rick’s drama coach.

  “No comment,” Ken said, suppressing an urge to laugh.

  “We’ve heard he’s distraught.”

  “No comment.”

  “We’ve heard he’s suicidally depressed and that he’s desperate, that he’ll do anything to patch things up with Eva and get her back. Is that true?”

  “Exactly what part of ‘no comment’ don’t you guys understand?”

  “Come on, Alex. Help us out a little here. What has Deke been doing since he found out that Eva has been whoring around behind his back? Has he seen her? Has he forgiven her? Is it true that Gunther has offered Deke money to give Eva up? Is the wedding on or off?”

  “No comment,” Ken repeated. Now he knew what the proverbial broken record must feel like.

  “Give us at least one quote,” the journalist begged. “Tell us something, anything. Tell us what Deke has been doing.”

  Ken thought for a moment. “Mr. Rowe has been listening to a lot of Russian opera.”

  The other two men looked baffled, and Ken took advantage of their confusion to slip past them and enter the lobby.

  Upstairs, to Ken’s relief, Rick looked much more relaxed and at ease than Ken had anticipated, considering the circumstances. He’d not only shaved, he’d also changed his clothes, and was in fact very elegantly attired in the kind of “casual” clothes that cost a great deal of money.

  “Don’t you look nice?” Ken commented.

  “Thanks. I decided I’d better get dressed up for my showdown with Eva. I knew I’d be photographed. And I was, arriving at her place and then again coming out of it. Speaking of the press, are Beavis and Butthead still camped out in front?”

  “I’m afraid so. They intercepted me, but I blew them off.”

  “Good for you. Were they alone? You didn’t see any other reporters hanging around?”

  “No.”

  “That’s encouraging. It means that they’re trying to protect their scoop. Somehow, they managed to track me down here, but they’re keeping it to themselves. You should have seen that mob scene in front of Eva’s house.”

  “They’re maybe not such great investigators as you think they are.” Ken told Rick about his alter ego of Alexander Dargomizhky, and about the Russian opera quote.

  Rick laughed. “Serves them right. But sit down. Let me get you a drink while I start dinner. Is pasta okay?”

  “Perfect. Can I help?”

  “No, you stay put. You want a beer, a glass of wine, or what?”

  “Beer, please.”

  “Coming right up.” Rick went into the kitchen and returned after a few moments with a beer, which he handed to Ken, and a glass filled with ice and some clear bubbly liquid. “Mineral water,” he said, indicating his own drink. “After last night, I’m going easy on the booze today—so far,” he added wryly. “If I start to lose it later on, all bets are off.”

  Ken wanted to ask Rick how his meeting with Eva had gone, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase the question. Stalling for time, he took a sip of his beer and waited. He glanced at the cactus he had given Rick.

  Rick, however, didn’t seem to need prompting. “Speaking of journalist scoops,” he said matter-of-factly, “here’s one for you. I’m no longer engaged. Big surprise, right? The official announcement will be released to the press tomorrow morning. My agent and Eva’s agent are putting their heads together even as we speak, to come up with the wording and handle all the bullshit. That’s why they get paid the big bucks.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t be. I’m not sure I won’t look back on this years from now and think, ‘thank God I got out when I did.’ Here’s a little souvenir of my engagement.” Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out something he tossed onto the coffee table. The object emitted a distinct pinging noise as it landed, and Ken was startled to see that it was a ring. A very large square-cut diamond in a pl
atinum setting.

  “She gave you back the engagement ring?”

  “Gave it back to me? She took it off and threw it at me. She told me she never liked it anyway, because it was too small. The bitch.”

  “Too small? It looks pretty big to me.”

  “It’s eight carats,” Rick said. “I’d hate to tell you how much I paid for it. Thank God I can get my money back from the jeweler, minus the restocking fee. And then do you know what Eva had the nerve to say to me?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “She told me that her precious fucking Gunther has much better taste than I do, and he can buy her much bigger and better jewelry, all she wants. Not in so many words. I’m paraphrasing. And then I told her that Gunther can buy and sell a dozen bimbos just like her, or better, so she might want to make sure she really has her hooks in him this time instead of taking him for granted. Again, not in so many words. I’m afraid I said some things that weren’t very kind.”

  “Kind? Are you kidding? You’re worried about that after the way she’s treated you? She deserves every bit of it.”

  “Maybe.” Rick retrieved the ring and hefted it in his palm before putting it back in his pocket. “Fuck, I remember buying this, and the day I gave this to her and proposed and she said yes. I remember how happy we were. I thought that was the happiest day of my life so far, and things were only going to get better. And now this.” He sat up straight in his chair with a curious look of resolution on his face, like a man who’d been pondering some question over and over in his mind and had finally come to a conclusion. “Well, that’s that. Time to put the whole miserable experience behind me and move on.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “The spirit may be willing, but the motivation feels weak.” Rick glanced at his wristwatch. “The water ought to be boiling by now. Let’s move this into the kitchen.”

  They ate salad, followed by ravioli and meatballs loaded with a thick tomato sauce.

  “I’m going to treat myself to one glass of wine,” Rick declared. “Now that I’ve learned my lesson about drinking on an empty stomach. Join me?”