Gasp!

by Z. A. Maxfield

  Nigel pushed past both of them and out of the room. “Of course it is. That must be why I love it so much.”

  Marsden and Jeff listened to Nigel’s footsteps as he pounded up the stairs.

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I’m sorry.” Marsden looked anything but sorry. He looked like he was enjoying himself.

  “Well…shit.” Jeff stopped chopping. “They serve food at this bowling alley?”

  “Sure.”

  “Fine. We’ll eat there.” Jeff dumped the onions he’d been cutting into the trash.

  “It’s all-you-can-eat sushi night.” Deputy Marsden was forced to steady Jeff when he fell back against the counter. “What’s the matter? You just went all pale.”

  “Let’s just say I’m staying away from seafood for a while.”

  "So. Paxton. I did a little checking on you. How come you’re here in Bluebird Mountain babysitting Nigel Gasp?”

  “I was between jobs. I came home after my TOS expired.”

  Marsden nodded. “They make you leave?”

  “No, it was nothing like that. I didn’t re-up. Look, I don’t talk about that much.”

  “How’d you get this gig?”

  “My sister’s on maternity leave. She just needed me to look out for him up here for a few weeks.”

  “I see. You’d think someone like Gasp would have more people. Like an entourage.”

  “Ordinarily he has a whole goddamn circus. When he’s on tour, he has a personal manager, a road manager, road crew, tour buses, a security detail, drivers, a caterer, and people for hair and makeup and costumes. Right now he’s supposed to be lying low, taking a break from all that to recharge between tours. He’s supposed to be in seclusion.”

  “He doesn’t seem like the kind of character who does what he’s supposed to.”

  “You’re just concluding that now?”

  “Well. I’ll be at the bowling alley tonight."

  Jeff knew what Deidre would say. She’d already said it. “If Nigel Gasp wants to jump into a live volcano, you’d better put on your asbestos shoes and be prepared to catch him.”

  "Unofficially, I can help you keep an eye on him,” Marden said.

  “It takes a battalion of flying monkeys to keep an eye on Nigel.”

  “What does that say about your sister?”

  Jeff shrugged. “What do you think?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jeff nearly swallowed his tongue when Nigel emerged from the bathroom—at last—dressed in black from head to toe. He was stunning. From the neck up, Nigel looked like some fifties film star with cat eyes and teased hair. A long-sleeved turtleneck covered the dragon tat, and a little black skintight slit-the-fuck-up-to-pay-dirt skirt hid the body of a man Jeff got hard just thinking about. A slow smile that began as a throb in the base of Jeff’s cock worked its way up his spine and curved onto his lips.

  Jeff couldn’t explain his attraction to Nigel in drag. There was no precedent for it. He wasn’t attracted to even the most beautiful women, but this was Nigel, and the intimate secret they shared revved Jeff’s engine fiercely.

  Any straight man would cruise Nigel in drag. Every gay man would want him any way they could have him—but no one else tonight would know for sure what was waiting under that slim sliver of a skirt but Jeff.

  Mine. All mine. Tonight, Nigel Gasp belongs to me.

  Have mercy.

  Maybe he never lost sight of Nigel behind the costumes—whatever Nigel happened to be wearing—because under the scarves, under the makeup and the hair shit and the perfume, Nigel’s skin smelled just delicious and it called Jeff home, like steamy scent fingers coming off a cartoon apple pie.

  Jeff shook his head to clear it. Nigel’s appeal was a curious thing. He guessed it really was like they say: opposites attract.

  “Ready?” Jeff asked.

  Nigel’s gaze bored into him. “Not until you tell me what you think.”

  Of course Nigel would want praise. Praise was due. “You are simply the most amazing chameleon. I don’t know how you do it. Where the hell do you get all these clothes?”

  “You must know. You had to haul four hundred pounds of luggage up here.” Nigel turned, not taking his eyes off Jeff’s until he had to. “After a lot of fuss, I am as you see.”

  “I could put all that shit on, and I’d be…a goat in a dress. You make whatever you wear look good.”

  Nigel uttered a breathy, “Thank you,” before taking off for the stairs.

  Jeff followed, knowing Nigel was pleased. In truth Jeff was happy to please him. But he also had to lay down the law. “I don’t have to tell you, the usual antics on your part could get us both into serious trouble.”

  “I will do nothing unexpected.” Nigel’s reply was laced with light laughter.

  “Red Chief.” Jeff caught Nigel’s hand just before they got to the front door, and brought it to his lips. “Try to remember I’d be obliged to defend your honor.”

  “I know. I… Thank you for everything. For being here. For letting me go out. You’ve been fantastic when…there are people who aren’t.” Nigel’s eyes glistened as he pulled on gloves. “You understand why I might need this.”

  “Don’t give me that much credit.”

  Nigel lifted a black-gloved hand and stroked the side of Jeff’s face. “Even if you don’t understand, you still go along. You’re such a decent bloke.”

  “If you need this, I don’t have to understand.” Jeff leaned in for a delicate kiss. “I’m here for you.”

  Nigel’s eyelashes, fake this time even though his own were so perfectly, unnecessarily thick and curly, fluttered closed. “Someone could really fall for you, Jeff.”

  “For a while,” Jeff whispered. “I’m hard to take over the long haul.”

  Nigel nodded. “Me too.”

  “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Jeff held out his arm. “Shall we go?”

  Nigel wrapped his fingers around Jeff’s elbow and let himself be led to the car, where Amil waited for them.

  “My, my,” Amil murmured as he opened the door. “Don’t you two look spectacular?”

  “I wish Mom could see this. It’s the only time I’ve even pretended to go out with a woman.”

  “She doesn’t care who you date as long as he or she treats you well.” Nigel probably had that on good authority. He’d been Mrs. Paxton’s bestie since Deidre had started working for him. Amil waited until they were seated and belted before he closed the door.

  “Now she’s got her grandson, I bet it’ll be easier for her to take.”

  “She only wants you and Dee to be happy. You know that.”

  Jeff shrugged. “I guess I do.”

  Amil interrupted, “Did I understand Deidre correctly? Am I taking you to a bowling alley?”

  “It’s karaoke night.” Nigel practically vibrated with excitement.

  It wouldn’t be easy, but Jeff had come to understand that Nigel’s desire to be the center of attention was more along the line of a compulsion than a preference. “Hooray.”

  “I have your necklace.” Nigel pointed to a slightly lumpy spot on his chest under his turtleneck. He’d worn a long, silky black and purple scarf over it.

  “Dog tags.”

  “Whatever.” Nigel waved that away. “I feel like those women during World War II, going to the canteen to dance with soldiers. My bloke gave me these to keep me faithful.”

  “Whatever gets you through it,” Jeff teased.

  “Why did you quit?”

  “I didn’t quit. My term of service expired, and I didn’t reenlist.”

  Nigel said nothing, just waited expectantly until Jeff got tired of the silence.

  “Things changed for me,” Jeff admitted.

  “Deidre thinks it was about not being here for your mother when she got sick.”

  “It was. Partly, anyway.”

  “You surprised them by coming home.”

  Jeff rubbed his hands on his trousers. “I got into a fight
when I was in Germany on leave.”

  “Arrested?”

  “No.” Jeff shook his head. “But I did some major damage to a couple of other guys.”

  “What happened?”

  “I—” Jeff hesitated. “I was waiting for the train, and I saw two GIs harass a couple of transvestites.”

  “Transvestites or transgender?”

  “Maybe they were transgender. Maybe they were in costume for a play. At the time I didn’t think to ask. They appeared to be biological men dressed as women.”

  “I see.” Nigel rubbed the back of Jeff’s hand with his gloved fingers. It felt so soothing.

  “The civilians were young, and the soldiers were being so fucking crude. Anyway, one of the transvestites got up in this private’s face to tell him off, and he clocked her. Then the two of them were beating on these guys…girls. They were just kids, you know? I kept thinking what if someone treated my Deidre like that, and it fucking pissed me off. The control I prided myself on just snapped and I—” Jeff shut his mouth.

  It still made him angry.

  “You’re a good guy.” Nigel kissed his cheek. “A defender of innocents.”

  “I broke a nose or two, some ribs. I knocked out one guy’s bottom front teeth.”

  “But you weren’t discharged?”

  “Nope. In the end it was agreed I’d defended some teens against an assault. No one wanted the incident to become a big deal. I didn’t even lose a pay grade.”

  “After that?”

  “People saw me differently.”

  “The incident outed you?”

  “No. Everyone in my unit figured I was probably gay, but no one ever said anything about it. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was still in play. But after the fight my sergeant acted strangely. People started talking about me behind my back. Like I’d picked a side and it was the wrong one.”

  “Is that why you came home?”

  “I came home because when my life was on the line, I felt nothing, but I couldn’t control my emotions over a couple of kids.” They were just kids, bullied by grown men. That was never going to be okay in the Big Book of Jeff. Cruelty wasn’t a barrel of laughs for him like it was for some people. “And because I could no longer tell my friends from my enemies.”

  “Oh, honey.” Nigel’s voice was low but pitched like a woman’s. It was all part of the act, but Jeff felt oddly reassured by the sweetness of it. It was easy taking comfort from him when he was soft and genuine like that. However he dressed, whatever voice he used, Nigel was still Nigel, and it was nice to know he cared.

  “Nigel?”

  “Yeah?” That satiny, gloved hand gave Jeff’s fingers a squeeze.

  “The cross-dressing is new for me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to refer to you.”

  “Your worship will do.”

  “Ha-ha. I don’t think I’m caught up on the latest politically correct terms or whatever. I get confused sometimes.”

  “You’re the least confused person I know. You look past people’s armor and see what’s inside.” Nigel’s free hand fluttered a little, coming to rest over the fabric that hid Jeff’s dog tags. “Ah, bloody hell. You gave these to me because without the uniform, you don’t know who you are anymore. You think you have to start all over now, as if you were someone else.”

  Jeff turned his face from that too-insightful gaze.

  “Jeff.” Nigel pulled Jeff around to face him. “You’re still the same man. Trust me. I know you. You’re a bloke who takes on the world to do what’s right. You’re someone who stands up for people who can’t stand up for themselves. And you accept people for who they are, even if you don’t understand them.”

  Jeff closed his eyes. “Stop already.”

  “You’ve become my hero here, and I’ll tell you that every day if you need me to—I’ll tell you until you believe it.”

  The kiss Nigel pressed on him nearly melted Jeff’s lips. He was about to take that kiss to a whole new level—about to insinuate his hand under Nigel’s nasty slit skirt and find out what he had on under there—but Amil pulled into the driveway of the Bluebird Bowl, and the SUV gave a tremendous bounce, jerking them apart.

  “Here you go. Right to the front door.” Amil met Jeff’s irritated gaze in the rearview mirror and started to get out. “The bowling alley, Boss.”

  “Stay where you are, Amil. “We’re supposed to be normal people.”

  “Good luck with that,” Amil muttered as Jeff got out and turned to help Nigel.

  “Park somewhere nearby in case we need you.”

  Amil touched an imaginary cap and drove off.

  Jeff led Nigel into the bowling alley, past a wall of noise. The place was busier than he’d thought it would be. The crash of falling bowling pins and the incessant electronic music of video games surrounded them. There were an awful lot of people wearing denim and plaid flannel.

  “I think you’re overdressed for the occasion, sweetheart.”

  “Impossible.” Nigel picked a piece of imaginary lint off his sleeve.

  “And I might have forgotten to mention that it’s all-you-can-eat sushi night.”

  Nigel’s fingers crushed his arm. “What?”

  “It’s all-you-can-eat uncooked fish. Aren’t you glad we came, honey?”

  When it was his turn, Nigel got up on the stage and took the microphone. He started off shyly, like he hadn’t done much public singing before—like he didn’t really understand how to work the microphone. The guy who ran the show and the odd, florid-faced man who pushed the buttons on the box that sent the lyrics to the monitor for Nigel to read fluttered around him, eager as new pups to help.

  If Jeff thought about that, which he tried not to, damn it, he realized that to Amil or Marsden or anyone who saw him and Nigel together, he probably looked just as love struck as any man who ever lived.

  God Almighty, it was true.

  Ever since he’d pulled His Royal Pain-in-the-ass Highness from the lake, Jeff had lost his shit for Nigel, and never more than when Nigel sang, because that velvet cat-of-nine-tails voice rubbed all over him and lashed him by turns.

  Nigel’s voice lifted the hairs on Jeff’s skin. It entered him, pouring into his ears and down his spine, flooding his entire body with warmth until his cock rose like some one-eyed monster to peer around, give the air a sniff, and find something to fuck. Nigel’s voice had always had that effect on Jeff’s cock, only now Nigel was its favorite target.

  After listening to a few Colbie Caillat ballads in the hands of people who could barely sing, Nigel sang Patsy Cline’s “Crazy,” which was guaranteed to catch like a brush fire with this crowd, some of whom were clearly country even now, even in California, where country wasn’t always cool anymore.

  The excitement the song generated meant Jeff didn’t see Nigel up close for nearly an hour after he finished. While Nigel let men buy him drinks, flatter him, and generally try to take him home, Jeff talked to Marsden and his wife, Alice, who was the only other credible singer in the place. He kept one eye on Nigel, though, and the sight of Nigel’s hand on some guy’s arm or the thought of his warm breath ghosting over someone’s ear as he leaned in close to talk made Jeff’s jaw muscles ache.

  “Looks like he’s got everyone hoodwinked for now,” Marsden said. “This all goes south if anyone finds out who he is.”

  Alice seemed thrilled to be part of the Nigel Gasp Experiment. “People will shit when they find out. I can’t believe he can make himself sound so much like a chick.”

  Jeff nodded. “Nigel’s a character actor. He certainly could have played all the women’s parts in Shakespeare’s time.” When some yokel put his hands on Nigel’s ass, Jeff took a step toward him. “Shit.”

  “Steady now.” Marsden eyed the situation. “Something tells me Gasp has had plenty of practice at this.”

  Nigel easily fended off the pass, but it made Jeff’s blood boil anyway. He didn’t know what Nigel wanted him to do. Was he supposed to act like they were together?
Or was he supposed to let Nigel fly solo? Jeff stood with his arms crossed, unwilling to look away from the object of his irritation.

  “I’ll only wade in if things get out of hand. Can I expect your help if it gets ugly?”

  “Sure. People around here know me. They’ll expect me to calm things down if a fight breaks out.”

  Nigel glanced their way and smiled. Before Jeff could react, he’d turned to face the man he was talking to again—the ass grabber—as if he was genuinely enjoying the conversation. Nigel used his gloved hand to smooth a strand of hair behind his ear above a visible strip of alabaster neck. Jeff watched the slow glide of Nigel’s hand as it slipped down his chest and came to rest on his breastbone—caressing Jeff’s dog tags where they hid beneath his clothes but over his heart.

  All right. Message received.

  Jeff glanced at Marsden, whose expression said, You got it bad, brother.

  Jeff frowned. Yeah. It’s bad. Whatever.

  Nigel mounted the stairs to the stage again, and the emcee actually offered his hand to help him up that last little way, leaning over to hear what he wanted to sing. That small interaction quieted the crowd, which anticipated another good number from the stranger.

  Nigel nodded, took the microphone, and waited while the orchestrated intro to “Someone to Watch Over Me” swelled, quieting the crowd. Jeff let Nigel’s voice wash over him. It reminded him of something he’d heard about the Irish and soul and pulling pain from deep within and exorcising it.

  Deidre often joked if any Irishman could take a Jewish songwriter’s music and sing it like a black woman, that man was Nigel Gasp. She’d been talking about Bob Dylan’s song, “One More Cup of Coffee,” but the truth was written all over this performance.

  Part homage to the languid, warbling vocals of Amy Winehouse, part heartfelt tribute to Billie Holiday, it electrified the audience and sent chills down Jeff’s spine.

  Peripherally Jeff saw a commotion at the door just as cameras started flashing.

  Nigel must have realized what was happening because he clutched the microphone to his chest so hard Jeff heard the tinny clank of his dog tags when they connected. Nigel backed away, upstage, pale and anxious.