Burden

by K. C. Wells

  Why did you have to make him straight, God? I mean, really?

  Randy beamed. “Thank you. I still keep catching sight of my reflection and going, ‘Who is that?’” Jesse laughed, and Randy gazed at him critically. “Seems I’m not the only one who’s gone for a new look. You’ve changed your hair.”

  Automatically, Jesse reached up to touch his head. “Yeah. It was getting a little too long. Besides, summer’s coming. Short hair is always better when the weather gets hotter.” Who was he kidding? It had nothing to do with the heat, and everything to do with creating the right look.

  “Well, to quote you… it suits you.”

  Jesse didn’t know how to respond. He cleared his throat. “So… you still in Vice?” Like he didn’t already know the answer to that one. It was way too big a coincidence finding him in that spot.

  “Yeah.” Something in Randy’s less than enthusiastic tone got through to him.

  “I thought you liked your job.”

  “I did—I mean, I do—but….” He forked off another piece of flan but didn’t eat it. The sigh that rolled out of him was so heavy that Jesse gazed at him in concern. Randy put down his fork. “I ran into Baz last week.”

  “Our Baz?”

  That brought a faint smile. “Yeah, our Baz. Anyhow, it was pretty obvious he’s soliciting.”

  That wasn’t news to Jesse, but hearing Randy’s words sent a quake through him. “Wow. What did you do?” Jesse could feign surprise. That was child’s play compared to some of the emotions he faked during sex.

  “I should have arrested him. That’s what I should have done.” Randy’s words were tinged with anger, and Jesse couldn’t tell if they were directed at himself or at some other unknown entity.

  “But you didn’t,” Jesse said finally. What puzzled him was that he’d seen Baz a couple of days before, and Baz hadn’t said a word about it.

  Randy shook his head. “His husband is incapacitated. He had an accident that left him unable to work. What Baz earns on the streets is the only thing keeping their heads above water.” When Jesse gaped at him, Randy smiled. “You didn’t know he was married, did ya?”

  “No.” The subject had never come up those occasions when they’d worked together.

  Randy nodded sagely. “Most of the guys who worked in the Black Lounge were there because they really needed the money to survive. Well, apart from you.” He laughed. “You were the exception.”

  “Huh?”

  Randy’s smile didn’t falter. “You needed the money, sure, to supplement what you got from your family for your studying, but you also did it because you loved the sex.” He picked up his fork and continued eating.

  “I was that obvious?” Jesse had to laugh too. “What can I say? You nailed me.” He snickered. “Well, not literally.”

  Randy coughed, and he reached for a napkin. “Christ, warn a guy before you say stuff like that.” He wiped his mouth, then chuckled. “I’ve missed you.”

  Jesse’s breathing hitched, but he covered it with a cough. “Really?”

  Randy nodded, his eyes bright and his mood visibly lighter. “Life was never dull when you were around.” He put down his napkin. “I’m really glad I ran into you today. I’m sorry the job interview didn’t work out, but I’m sure something will turn up. And now that I know what your situation is, I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed that you find something soon.”

  “Thank you,” Jesse said sincerely. “And I’ve enjoyed this too.” It felt like they’d connected in a way that hadn’t been possible in the Black Lounge, which was hardly surprising.

  “But now I have to go.” Randy got out his wallet and extracted a few bills.

  “You’re running out on me again?” Jesse joked. “And can I pay for my half?”

  Randy shook his head. “When you’ve got a job and things are looking better, then yes, we’ll do this again. Right now, I’m taking care of you.” He grinned. “We all need a treat now and then, right? And yes, I’m running out on you again. I got bad guys to put away, remember?” Except his smile faded a little as he said the words.

  “Where are you going now?” Jesse didn’t want to let go just then.

  “Right this minute? The Metro on 215th Street.”

  “Me too. I’ll walk with you.”

  Randy’s smile blossomed. “Great.” He put the bills under his coffee cup, along with a tip, and they left the cafe, heading up Broadway. While they walked, Randy talked about all the open-air concerts taking place at various locations around Manhattan that summer. It turned out they both liked live music, and by the time they reached the Metro, Randy was already suggesting meeting up one evening to go to a concert.

  It felt… unreal. Not only that, it felt like a dream. Until Jesse reminded himself savagely that dream was the perfect word for the situation, and that he needed to wake the fuck up. Vice cop, remember? What would happen if a john saw you with Randy? Ever think about that? Randy had changed his appearance, sure, but there might still be guys who’d recognize him, especially after having his face all over the media.

  No, it was time to face reality. Nothing was ever gonna come of it, no matter how much he wanted it.

  Sometimes Jesse hated being a realist.

  STEVE WAS out when Jesse got back to the apartment, and that was fine because he had a phone call to make. He settled on the couch that doubled as his bed and clicked on Nikko’s number.

  “Hey.” The genuine happy note in Nikko’s voice warmed him. “I was just thinking about you.”

  Jesse chuckled. “Whaddaya know, I’m psychic.”

  “I was going to call you this weekend. Something you said at lunch that day has had me worrying, and I can’t shake it off.”

  Aw fuck. Jesse knew it was time for honesty. “Okay, before you ask, yes, I’m escorting, all right? But I’m being careful, and at least I have a place to stay where I’m not waiting for someone to throw me out on my ear. It’s a safe place too.” He knew he was sanitizing the whole situation, but Nikko didn’t need to hear the bad parts. Give him the Pretty Woman version. Nikko was gullible enough to believe it.

  “You couldn’t find a job?”

  Jesse snorted. “You have no clue what it’s like here, do ya? And let’s be honest, I’m good at what I do. So it’s a case of sticking with what you know works.” Silence. “Nikko?”

  A sigh filled his ears. “I guess you know what you’re doing. Just keep on being careful, okay?”

  “Always.” Time to change the subject. “Hey, guess who I ran into today?”

  “No idea.”

  “Randy. We had coffee and dessert.” In spite of his initial panic, the memory still gave him a good feeling.

  “Wow. I bet you enjoyed that.”

  “Yeah. It was a toss-up which was better—the dessert or the company.”

  Nikko chuckled. “I think it’s a no-brainer which one came out on top.” He paused. “You know what? You need a man.”

  Jesse laughed. “Sweetheart, I have lots of men. Well, most of the time they have me, but I’m not complaining.” Who was he kidding? He knew full well that to most of the guys who paid him, Jesse was nothing more than a convenient hole. Scrap that—a pair of holes. And holes were easy to find in New York. There was plenty of competition out there.

  “You know what I mean. You need someone.”

  Jesse was silent for a moment. “Yeah, but the one I want, I can’t have.”

  “Why not?” Nikko asked softly.

  “Let’s see. One, he’s straight. Two, he’s out of bounds. I’m sure there are more reasons, but those two are more than enough.” Yeah, because three was the real doozy. He’s a Vice cop.

  “That doesn’t sound like the Jesse I know. If you want this guy, go after him.”

  Jesse couldn’t hold back his sigh. “Let’s not talk about this, okay?” Besides, it was time to get busy. He had money to earn.

  “Fair enough. Call me soon?”

  “I will, I promise.” Jesse disconnect
ed the call. He stared at the screen, wishing life was as simple as Nikko plainly thought it was. Go after him. Yeah right. And what if that route only leads to torture?

  Jesse didn’t need that kind of pain.

  Chapter Six

  RANDY SWITCHED off the TV, not that he’d really been watching it, and threw the remote onto the seat cushion beside him. His mind had been all over the place that evening, and he knew a lot of that was because of his meeting with Jesse.

  It was just a coffee, for God’s sake. Then why had it felt like so much more?

  Thinking about Jesse seemed to be a common thread running through his days and nights, but Randy told himself he was just worried about him. That was all. It wasn’t as if he was attracted to him, right? It wasn’t like he was picturing Jesse with that new sexy haircut, and those pale blue eyes that seemed to see right into him, right? Because Randy was straight, no matter what Owen said.

  His thoughts went back to that conversation with Owen, and his words were right there. No one is completely straight, my friend. Randy huffed. “Oh yeah?” he muttered. “We’ll see about that.” He reached for his laptop on the coffee table and fired it up. A quick online search found him exactly what he was looking for—a quiz.

  Can we guess if you’re gay? the headline screamed at him. There were only ten questions. Randy got comfortable and clicked on the icon to start.

  The first question made him blink. What the hell? It wanted to know if his index finger was shorter than his ring finger. Okay, not what I expected, but hey, let’s play. He clicked on the answer, then went on to the next question.

  That was even weirder. Music artists appeared, and he was asked to choose his favorite. Beyoncé was there, so that was easy, but he could easily have chosen Katy Perry or Rihanna.

  The third question had him laughing out loud. Can you do this? There was a video of a guy with his legs in the air, juggling five balls between his hands and feet. Hell no. Randy was still laughing as he went on to the next question. A pattern emerged, as he had to choose his favorite movie from a list, between Batman or Superman, his favorite chocolate…. The only time the questions got vaguely serious was when it asked how old he was when he had his first kiss.

  Randy chuckled. He didn’t think Tilly Kendrick stealing a kiss at a family wedding when he was seven was likely to affect the outcome much.

  At last he was through them all and clicked for the results. When a rainbow flag popped up, filling the screen, with a single word—Gay—beneath it, Randy stared at it in disbelief.

  Uh-uh. No way.

  He got up from the couch, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and sat back down to redo the test, only this time, he varied his answers, because obviously some of his previous choices had screamed gay. The second time, he got a different response.

  It said Bi-curious.

  This stupid test is defective. Randy did another search and found one that appeared less inane and more scientific, with multiple choice answers. That’s better. He took a drink from his glass and clicked on the screen. The opening words were a comfort.

  This quiz will also cover bi-curiosity, so you can find out if you are straight, but with exceptions. Don’t be worried about your result—you are lovable just the way you are.

  He smiled to himself. I’m lovable. Then he went to the first question.

  Do you have any same-sex crushes?

  Shit. Okay, that was a dilemma. Did he answer truthfully, or what? Randy decided to be honest and see where it took him. But after that, the questions grew increasingly more… intimate.

  Have you considered marrying the same sex? That one was easy. No.

  Have you considered kissing the same sex? Oh dear God, he didn’t want to get into that one.

  Have you imagined having intercourse with the same sex? Randy swallowed. Holy fuck. He knew that any of the answers except No was going to steer his result down a certain course, but he couldn’t in all honesty hit No. Because that would have been a lie.

  The next two questions dealt with hypothetical situations in which Randy might find himself and his reactions to them. That wasn’t so bad. But the seventh question froze him, because there it was, the heart of the matter.

  Do you think you are homosexual?

  He moved his finger across the mouse pad, deliberating. The answers ranged from Not at all to Yes, with varying degrees between. I don’t know how to answer! In the end he went for Not at all, because he wasn’t, and that was that.

  Do you support homosexual marriage? The responses weren’t as simple as yes or no, however. Yes, but anonymously felt like a lie, as did I do not think much of it. Randy thought it was one of the most important decisions the Supreme Court had ever made. But the three remaining choices were all about the possibility that it would happen for him one day, and he was stumped. In the end, he had to pick something, so he went with the anonymous one.

  Have you taken a sexuality quiz before? What was the result?

  Randy laughed. “Which time?” He lied and clicked on This is my first sexuality quiz. That left him with the final question, and he braced himself for whatever was about to appear on the next screen.

  In your ENTIRE LIFE, have you been sexually attracted to the same sex?

  His heartbeat quickened. His throat dried up. He ached to click on No, but that was a lie. Multiple times was equally a lie, and that left him just one answer that got near to the truth. Randy took a deep breath and chose his response. Only once.

  His breathing still rapid, he clicked on Test Results and waited.

  40%. Bi-curious.

  Okay, it wasn’t as bad as the first test, but that didn’t mean he was happy with it. And that meant only one thing—do the test again, altering his responses to the ones he felt a straight person would give.

  By one in the morning, he’d done two more tests on other sites and no longer knew which way was up. His results ranged from Gay to Bi-curious, all the way down to Straight. That last result should have made him happy, but it didn’t.

  It was false, and he knew it.

  Beyond tired and confused as hell, he stumbled into bed and was asleep within seconds.

  RANDY LEANED against the washing machine, its white noise strangely relaxing, and closed his eyes. The basement was empty, and his was the only machine in operation. He rubbed his hands over his face and caught the smell of the fabric softener, a mixture of lavender and chamomile. He inhaled, letting it soothe him.

  “Someone looks like he’s had a rough day.”

  Randy opened his eyes. Owen stood in the doorway, a white plastic basket in his arms. “Hey.”

  Owen nodded toward the dryer in the corner. “Came to collect my stuff.” He walked past Randy and proceeded to empty his clothing from its innards. “So am I right? Rough day?”

  “Lately, every day’s a rough day.” Randy was kind of getting used to it, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

  “What’s up?”

  Randy placed his hands on top of the washing machine, letting its rumblings shudder through him. “This job is getting tougher. That’s what’s up.”

  “In what way?” Owen asked as he folded a cream shirt carefully before placing it in the basket.

  Randy huffed. “Seems like there are more and more guys working the streets. I should explain. I deal mainly with male hookers. My job is to arrest the bad guys,” he said, air-quoting. “Only, that’s the problem. I don’t see them as bad guys.” That had turned up during his debriefing sessions, once he’d finished his undercover stint.

  “Apart from a sudden influx of hookers and rent boys—and I can’t see how that could be, unless they’ve suddenly started bussing in from all over—what else has changed?”

  “You know how this administration likes to be seen doing the right thing?”

  Owen rolled his eyes. “Lord yes. ‘Let’s crack down on the homeless.’ ‘Let’s get the beggars off the streets.’ ‘Let’s crack down on the motorcycles.’ Seen it all before.” He peered
at Randy. “I take it you’re under the microscope this month?”

  Randy snorted. “More like this year. ‘Let’s crack down on prostitution.’ ‘Let’s stop sex trafficking.’ Now when it comes to the latter, I got no problem. You can recognize who the real bad guys are—the ones behind the scenes, selling people. Guys like Richards and his brother Seb, y’know, real scumbags. Earlier this year, NYPD added another twenty-five detectives to their Vice squad, just to investigate sex trafficking. Plus they set up a twenty-four-hour hotline, staffed by Special Victims Division investigators, so people can call to anonymously report trafficking.”

  Owen frowned. “But… that’s good, isn’t it?”

  Randy nodded fervently. “Oh, sure it is! Human trafficking is one of the fastest growing enterprises in the world. Why’d you think the judge threw the book at Richards? New York is the fourth-highest state for sex trafficking. And I think it’s great that they talked about ‘altering the mindset,’ switching the emphasis away from the prostitutes and focusing more on the pimps who sell them and the johns who pay for their services.”

  Owen folded his arms across his chest. “Then what’s changed? What’s taken the status from great to not so great?”

  Randy stared at the tiled floor. “You wanna know what I was doing all day? Posting fake ads and sending text messages. Posting phony listings to prostitution sites.”

  “That doesn’t sound like policing.”

  He shrugged. “All part of the latest initiative. We post the ad, go to a hotel, wait until the john shows up, then arrest him.”

  Owen frowned. “That sounds like it could be dangerous. Just thinking how I’d react if I turned up at a hotel, expecting to find a hooker, and instead I’m confronted by a cop. Some guys might decide to beat the shit out of you. Tell me you cops work in pairs for this.”

  Randy laughed softly. “You bet your ass. Most of the time, they don’t react too violently.” There had been some, however, and a couple of incidents had resulted in additional charges of assaulting a police officer. “Except I think the word is out. Some of them aren’t showing up, so then we send text messages.”