Gasp!

by Z. A. Maxfield

  Several of the bowling alley’s patrons, armed with cell phone cameras, had pushed their way past the counter where they were supposed to pay a cover charge for karaoke, and into the bar.

  They started shouting questions at Nigel, but no one waited for him to answer and it occurred to Jeff that if there were paparazzi outside, someone might have put them up to it—offered a bounty of sorts for new pictures of Nigel in drag.

  Bile rose in Jeff’s throat. There were so many ways this could go badly.

  A buzz of whispers started among the crowd, and as the rumor that the “woman” on the stage was in fact Nigel Gasp spread, others started knocking people out of the way to get closer. Because it was such a small place, they focused on taking pictures to the detriment of public safety. Like a pack of hunters, they scented blood.

  Nigel Gasp in a dress couldn’t be shocking news to anyone anymore, but it was news. It would make a memorable magazine cover. It could be the next Nigel Gasp antic, the one that kept alive his image as a troublemaking head case. The papers would get the pictures, then spin the story any way they wanted to. And Jeff knew he'd be right in the thick of things. He could see the headlines now: New Crying Game—Vet dates transvestite Nigel Gasp. Christ.

  Nigel usually didn’t let the lack of privacy get to him, but Jeff could see from Nigel’s shaken retreat that it bothered him a lot right then. Someone had set that crowd on him, ending a nice evening and turning it into a fight for his safety.

  Jeff felt the violation like a blow to the gut. Ultimately he was to blame. He should have taken a firmer stand when Nigel wanted to go out. He should have made better arrangements. He should have watched over Nigel, like the song said.

  By unspoken agreement, Marsden headed for the closest paparazzo wannabe and Jeff headed for the stage. He pushed his way through the crowd, picking up speed. Alice bounded up there with him, fearless and angry on Nigel’s behalf, ready to get on Nigel’s other side and face down the mob if she needed to. Ready to kick a little ass if that’s what the situation required.

  Jeff grinned at her over Nigel’s head.

  They put their arms around Nigel and pushed him back through the crowd of people who were now amped up because they realized they had a celebrity in their midst. A small frenzy rippled around them. Everyone started pulling out cell phones and pushing forward with questions. One or two people had pens and might have asked for autographs if he and Alice Marsden weren’t wearing matching expressions that clearly said, Back off.

  Nigel kept his head down and ran like a track star, heels and all. Alice pushed with her free arm extended, and Jeff hunched his shoulders and moved like a brick wall to clear the way. Ordinary people backed off easily. Some of them didn’t like having their evening spoiled so much they helped push others out of the way.

  When they made it past the door, the real tabloid photographers—who weren’t above trying to grab Nigel or spit on him, even, in hopes of getting a picture of him acting stupid—tried to intercept them, but the crowd and Deputy Marsden held them back. Someone stuck a camera right in Nigel’s face with one hand and reached for his balls with the other. Jeff didn’t just push him out of the way; he brought his knee up, crack, between the man’s legs and watched him drop like a rock, only to be stepped on by one of his peers as that man tried using him to get a higher angle and a better shot.

  “Bastards,” Alice hissed. She batted one particularly ruthless guy out of the way and asked Nigel, “Is this how you live?”

  Nigel was unusually silent. In Jeff’s experience a compliant Nigel was alarming.

  “You okay, Nigel?”

  “Yes.” Nigel replied so softly Jeff barely heard him.

  Amil had pulled the Rover up to the curb and waited for them, motor running. Several sheriff’s department cruisers had pulled into the parking lot, their lights flashing. Jeff pushed Nigel into the SUV and shut the door. He stood alongside Marsden, who leaned down to speak to Amil through the passenger window.

  “Don’t try to lose the photographers. These roads aren’t safe for a car chase, especially at night.” Amil nodded. To Jeff, Marsden said, “Head to your place. Once you get there, close the gate behind you and stay.”

  “I’m sorry about this.”

  “It was my suggestion. I wonder how they found out?” Marsden motioned to a couple of the deputies, who’d spotted him. They were assessing the situation, waiting for Marsden to fill them in. He spoke with two men briefly, and they headed back to their cruisers. “My deputies will escort you, and once you’re inside, they’ll keep everyone away from the property.”

  Jeff nodded. “Thanks for everything. I’m really sorry to cause this kind of trouble.”

  Marsden was already walking away. Alice waved toward the SUV, presumably at Nigel, who couldn’t be seen behind the glass. Jeff waved to her and climbed in with him.

  Nobody spoke when Amil pulled out. He had to fight the traffic and dodge spectators. Three motorbikes fired up their engines to follow them. Amil shot onto the street, and Nigel was thrown against Jeff.

  “Buckle up,” Jeff ordered. “Amil, slow down. We’ve got an escort, so wait and drive slowly. You heard the man. No car chases.”

  Nigel still said nothing—a whole alarming lot of nothing. Jeff leaned over so he could see beneath Nigel’s hair, which now looked like something had nested in it.

  Nigel was crying.

  Ah hell. “Don’t cry, Red Chief.”

  Nigel pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I’m tired.”

  “When we get home, I’ll make you some soup or something.”

  “God. Don’t be nice.”

  “All right.” Jeff spoke softly into the darkness. “When we get home, I’ll make some soup, and when you’re not looking, I’ll spit in it.”

  Nigel slipped out of his shoulder restraint and laid his head on Jeff’s shoulder. The soundless shaking of his small frame seemed more worrisome still, since Nigel wasn’t given to doing anything quietly.

  “I’m so sorry, Nigel.” Jeff patted Nigel’s hair and then gathered his upper body close while Nigel wept softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Nigel shook his head.

  “It will be.” Jeff stroked Nigel’s stiff hair. “I promise. It’ll be okay.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jeff had the absurd urge to carry Nigel from the car, but he suppressed it. He did help Nigel down from the high vehicle, putting his arm around the man’s thin shoulders to keep him warm. The sheriff’s deputies pulled up behind them with their lights flashing, and they dealt with anyone who followed.

  “The good people of Bluebird Mountain are going to burn me in effigy,” Nigel remarked. While Nigel keyed the lock, Jeff watched Amil exit the driveway, closing the gate behind him.

  Once inside, Jeff closed the door and punched in the security codes, setting the alarm again right away. “I’ll get all the window blinds down in here.”

  “I have to get this muck out of my hair.” Nigel poked at the teased section of his hair. It barely moved.

  “If you want, go take a shower. I’ll fix us something to eat. Close the blinds up there before—”

  “I won’t make myself more of a spectacle than I already have.”

  Jeff stopped what he was doing and turned toward Nigel. “What happened back there…that was just bad luck. In no way were you a spectacle. You were great. It’s just—” Jeff ‘s phone vibrated, and he pulled it out to check it. “Deidre.”

  Jeff declined the call. He didn’t want to talk, not when Nigel looked so lost.

  “I don’t understand,” Jeff said finally. “I want to help. I just don’t know how.”

  Nigel yanked his earrings off none too gently. “I can’t tell you if I don’t know myself.”

  “Can you at least tell me what’s eating you? Because I know something’s been bothering you since before I got here.”

  “I don’t know.” Nigel sat on the stairs. “Sometimes things are brilliant. Then the mom
ent pops like a soap bubble. I was singing for my bloke, and everything went to hell.”

  “You were perfect up there.” Jeff sat down beside him. “And you sang like no one ever. People stopped breathing. You should be so goddamn proud. Everyone loved you.”

  Nigel’s lips curved into a smile. “They did, didn’t they? Of course they did.”

  Jeff huffed a laugh. “So I guess I don’t really understand what’s got you down. Besides the assholes tonight.”

  “I don’t know.” Nigel sighed. “I’m old and things are different now. I can’t be the wayward kid who dresses up and shocks people anymore. I’m just…I’m just an oddity. An eccentric old man.”

  “Hardly.”

  “I am. I’ll be”—Nigel’s voice lost its usual resonance—“forty on my birthday. I never believed I would get that old.”

  “Forty isn’t old. Forty is the new thirty.”

  “Forty is me losing track of what I’m getting up for anymore. I’ve done everything I said I’d do. Bucket list completed.” Nigel brushed his hands together. “Fini. Now all I have left to look forward to is being invited to appear on tacky game shows and performing at the funerals of friends who have died. Nigel Gasp is frozen in the residue of his fame, and I can’t move on without him.”

  “How can you say that?” Jeff put his arm around Nigel’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “You can still mesmerize a crowd even when they don’t know it’s you.”

  “But for how long? How long before I’m a joke where the punch line is plastic surgery and chasing celebrity from the valley of the living dead?”

  “Never.” Jeff laughed out loud. “You will never age like that.”

  “Old is old,” Nigel insisted. “Rock star old is painfully, bitterly old. It’s still wearing leather pants while every bit of the body is going south and getting away from you. The next thing you know it’s all about surly young pussy and brittle boy toys and prenuptial agreements made of Swiss cheese.”

  “Somehow I don’t see you with surly young pussy.”

  “You never know.” Nigel broke away and stood up. He made his way into the kitchen, where he pulled two bottles of beer from the refrigerator. He used a bottle opener and the cap popped off with a hiss. “Shit happens. I never planned anything this far ahead.”

  “So what. You’re an imaginative guy, Nigel. Make new plans.”

  “You think it’s that easy?”

  “No.” Jeff opened his own beer and took a cold, bitter sip. “If it were easy, you wouldn’t be having such a hard fucking time with it.”

  “It seems impossible.” Nigel leaned against the counter.

  “Have you considered seeing someone? A doctor? A therapist or someone who could help you.”

  “What do you think?” Nigel snapped.

  “I think”—Jeff considered his words very carefully—“the world is predisposed to like all the Nigels that you are. Young or old. Silly or serious. Singing or silent. I think your fans will like what comes next and you will too, if you give yourself a chance.”

  “I’m fucking old, Jeff. You’re saying I’ll learn to like it? It’s only going to get worse.”

  “You could live to be a hundred, but you will never be old. It isn’t in your nature.”

  Nigel’s expression softened. “I’m at least old enough to know there are times when I should shut up.”

  “Old dog learns new tricks, film at eleven.” Jeff met Nigel’s teasing tone with a grin. “Maybe now would be good?”

  Nigel pushed at his shoulder. “You’re thick, Jeff Paxton, but all right.”

  “Thick?”

  “You’re the white-hat cowboy from western films. Thick and good to a fault.”

  “You think so?” Jeff took Nigel’s hand.

  Nigel snorted. “I can’t believe you don’t know that.”

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Never.” Nigel’s innocent act failed.

  He was. The bastard. “I’m not such a good guy. I lose my patience all the time.”

  “I can be deliberately provocative.”

  “You can be a great big pain in the ass.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” Jeff wrapped his arms around Nigel and held on. “I like you, Nigel. I really like you. If you remember nothing else about me, remember that.”

  Nigel’s head tilted to a funny angle. “I believe you mean that.”

  Jeff pressed his forehead to Nigel’s. “I do mean it. I swear it on my mother’s heart.”

  “I wear on people,” Nigel admitted. “Sometimes even though they like me in the beginning, I wear on them and they stop liking me after a while. Sometimes it’s simply too hard to try…”

  Jeff’s heart hurt for Nigel if he really believed that. “You know—”

  “Sometimes I make myself unlikable in the first place to save everyone the bother.”

  Jeff wanted to say stick around. He wanted to say you’re special and strange and just a little bit magical, and I will prove to you that I will never fail you. But he couldn’t say that, and maybe that’s what Nigel meant. Maybe he was Nigel’s white-hat cowboy because he didn’t know how to lie.

  Instead he asked Nigel, “Do you want me to bring you a cup of hot tea?”

  “What?” Confused blue eyes found his.

  “To the bathroom?” Despite his attraction, Jeff had nothing to offer except what physical comfort he could bring until Deidre came back. “Do you want to take a shower and unwind? I’ll bring you some tea.”

  “Sure.” Nigel turned to head up the stairs. True to form, he was not without an exit line. “Make it hot and sweet, just like you.”

  Nigel used the shower to wash the sticky residue of products from his hair, then plugged the tub and let it fill, adding bubbles and bath salts and a couple of other things he found to the water.

  Jeff had come in while he showered and left a glass of neat Irish whiskey and a cup of sweetened tea for him on a tray on the vanity stool. He reclined in the water with his back on a bath pillow, sipping his drink, kicking little bubbles up into the air, draping suds over the faucet with his toe while he hummed to himself.

  Right about the time the water got cold, Jeff came in and sat down on the lip of the tub, holding his own drink. He looked like he’d had one or two before he came in.

  “I just talked to Deidre. I had a drill sergeant in boot camp who yelled at me less.”

  “I got you in trouble, eh?”

  “She’s probably saving a little something up for you.”

  “Oh bother. I’ll prepare myself…”

  “Cover your nuts. I’m pretty sure mine are a distant memory.”

  “When I get a chance, I’ll tell her I forced you to take me out tonight.”

  “She’s the one who told me to do what you wanted.”

  “She what?” Deidre had given Jeff instructions to…what?

  “She’s the one who said if Nigel Gasp wants to do something, you do it.” Jeff’s voice slurred on the last few words. “I’m supposed to put on my asbestos shoes and catch…or something. She said you’re the boss, so you’re the boss. What do you want, Boss?”

  Nigel pulled a towel over his head. “I want you to leave me alone right now.”

  “What? No, Nigel.” Jeff leaned forward and pulled the towel off. “I’m not leaving you alone now.”

  “Go.” Nigel’s voice echoed off the tiles. What the hell did Jeff mean? What else had he done because Deidre told him he was required to do it? “I want you to go.”

  Jeff blinked at him. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, Jeff. I’m simply tired.”

  Jeff stood, but instead of leaving, he took his T-shirt off over his head. He pulled of his shoes, then his socks, pants, and shorts hit the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting in there.”

  “Why? Did your sister tell you to do that too?”

  There was a terrifying moment when Jeff lurched drun
kenly, when he knocked his foot against the side of the tub and had to slap the beige marble wall with his hand to keep from falling in.

  “Shit.”

  “Bloody hell,” Nigel croaked. “It’s like being under a tree when it falls. At least yell timber.”

  “I got your log right here, little man.”

  “How much did you have to drink?”

  “I don’t know. It was like a drinking game, I took a shot every time Deidre dropped the f-bomb. We need more whiskey. Scootch over.”

  “Scootch? What the hell is scootch?”

  Jeff knelt in the smallish tub and nudged Nigel with his hips enough to unseat him—enough to force him to climb aboard Jeff’s body and lie on top of him completely. “Now. Isn’t that better?”

  “It is not. My ass is in the cold air, freezing. Did she really give you such a hard time?”

  “Nah.” Jeff scooped water over Nigel, and he warmed up briefly. Lifting his foot, Nigel raised the lever to turn the tap on again with his toe, intending to fill the tub to the brim if it meant he could be under the water too.

  Nigel asked, “Did Deidre really tell you to do anything I want?”

  “She just reminded me you’re the talent. You do what you want. It’s my job to keep you safe and out of trouble, and I did a goddamn lousy job of it.” Jeff closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Nigel.”

  “It’s not your fault. That always happens.”

  “I want to fix things.”

  “You want to fix me?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, there’s nothing wrong with you?” Jeff shook his head. “I just want to stand between you and whatever it is you’re going through.”

  “Enough to stay with the tour after Deidre comes back?”

  Beneath Nigel, Jeff barely breathed. “What?”

  Nigel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. “Right. As nice as this is, we’d be kidding ourselves to believe it could be anything more, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Goddamn it, Jeff could be obtuse. “When Deidre comes back, when the tour starts, would you consider staying on? Either as a member of the security staff or—”