by M. C. Adams
But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to say a word. Maybe I’m worried I’ll offend him?
‘So, uh, how come you’re having such a bad night?’ I ask.
‘Me?’ Hunter makes a horrible hacking noise, and then spits on the floor. It’s unbelievably disgusting. But there’s something I admire about him too. So rebellious. Free. Not caring what anyone thinks of him. It’s an admirable quality in a man. So many guys care way too much. Especially in my industry. You’ve got to strike a balance, of course, keep the client’s requirements in mind. But if you over-pander, if you’re not sure of yourself, you can lose creative control. And that’s never good.
‘I actually work here,’ says Hunter. ‘Or at least, I used to, until they fucking fired me, right before I ran into you.’
‘They fired you? Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Are you a barman?’
‘A barman?’ Hunter scoffs. ‘What is this, 1997? No, I wasn’t a bar person. I worked on the door. Bouncer. But I was ten minutes late tonight, and when the boss got wind of it, he fired me on the spot. Barry’s got a mean streak, it turns out.’
‘A bouncer. Wow. That’s… impressive.’ It makes sense, now that I think about it — he’s got an incredible physique under that tight white t-shirt. Tattoos peeping out from under his sleeves. I find myself faltering for a moment, distracted by just how strong this guy must be. Then, I snap out of it. ‘But wait, I didn’t see you on the door when I came in.’
‘I was in the back office, getting a right bollocking,’ says Hunter. He takes another few gulps of his drink. ‘Never mind. They can’t stop me from hanging out here as a punter, anyway. And the night is still young.’
‘Yes,’ I say, taking another tentative sip of my own beer. ‘I suppose the night is still young….’
I look at Hunter, at the moonlight bathing one half of his face in soft, white light. At his pouting, nude lips. The glint of his silver nose ring.
Now I come to think of it, he looks like just the kind of person that might agree to the crazy plan that I’ve got in mind.
‘I’m Klein by the way,’ I tell him.
2
HUNTER
* * *
Klein? What the fuck kind of name is that? Sounds like a designer label.
Honestly, this man is going to crash and burn tonight without my help. That get-up he’s wearing for a start — bet it cost him a mint, but he sticks out like a sore thumb. Way too dressy for a place like this. He looks like he’s off for a day at the races. Either that or off to the houses of fucking parliament.
And the way he was just standing there, waiting to get served like an absolute lemon. Man, that was so bad it was funny.
Still, there’s something about him I like. His age, for one. He’s more mature than the average clubber, and I find that intriguing. Must be, I don’t know, in his mid-thirties? Maybe a little older, even. I like the look of him too. Can’t deny that. His sleek, blonde hair. His razor-sharp cheekbones. Those big, innocent, blue eyes. He may be older than me, but he’s got a young look to him.
Everything about this man screams heterosexual divorcé.
Bet I’m right. Bet he’s one of those recently single, bi-curious men who ends up bottling it at the first sign of affection from another man.
Anyway, who am I to judge? Looks can be deceiving. People can surprise you. And it’s not like I’m trying to pull him tonight or anything. Attractive as he is, he’s deffo not my type.
And even if he was, I’m hardly in the mood.
Ten measly minutes late. I’m fucking fuming. It’s not like the club had even opened by that point. They were just prepping the place.
That’s how I roll though: losing job after job after job because I can’t handle the rules.
Hunter the Rebel.
Just like always.
Ugh.
I try. I swear I really do try. But one way or another, I end up screwing up. In my opinion, though, the punishment never fits the crime. It’s not like I ever stole anything, or hurt anyone. Well, I never hurt anyone badly. And never without reason.
Got to sort my shit out from now on, though. Start towing the line. Find myself a new job, a new apartment, a new attitude.
I take a gulp of beer.
Yeah, right. Nothing’s gonna change. It never does. That’s just how I’m built. Programmed to mess up, time and time again.
‘So, uh, Hunter,’ says Klein, his voice as sweet as honey, as posh as primroses. Bet he’s never been fired. ‘I suppose you’re looking for another job now, are you?’
I shrug and kick a cigarette butt on the ground. My scuffed trainers look so dirty next to his shiny red Oxfords. How do some people get all the luck in life while others get none? I wonder if this man ever worked a day in his life, or if he just inherited his wealth — got it passed on to him by his wealthy dad or whatever.
‘Dunno,’ I say. ‘S’pose so.’
‘And is it… bouncer work that you’re looking for?’ The way he emphasises those words — I don’t like it. Is he criticising me? People normally are.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It’s either that or take this job I’ve been offered as a hired killer.’
Klein’s eyes widen. For a second, it looks like he’s about to run off screaming, but then he exhales, realising I’m teasing him. ‘I see,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry. I really wasn’t trying to disparage you. Bouncers are… integral to keeping our society safe. It’s a noble profession.’
Well, when I hear that, I burst out laughing. ‘A noble profession?! What’s with you, Klein? Are you for real? You sound like you’ve stepped out of a Victorian novel or something.’
Klein sniffs, maybe a little hurt by my assessment. ‘You’re right to laugh, I suppose. I must seem rather queer to you.’
‘Queer?’ I laugh again, louder than ever. ‘You mean, like queer queer? Or just queer?’
‘This is all coming out wrong,’ says Klein, shaking his head. I think he might be properly upset now. I should lay off him a bit.
‘I reckon we might’ve got off on the wrong foot here,’ I say. ‘Let’s start again. What brings you here tonight, Klein?’
Klein looks at me, really looks at me, and I suddenly realise how long it’s been since anybody’s done that. Those pale, blue eyes, the colour of a spring sky, look deep within my soul, and for a moment, I think this man can see into me. Like, maybe he’s my guardian angel, and running into him tonight was fate. He’s about to turn everything around for me.
‘I’m here on a mission,’ Klein says in a low voice, almost a whisper.
‘A mission?’ I arch my brow. ‘Seriously? I love missions. What kind of mission? I’m ready for anything.’
‘You are?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got pepper spray in my pocket and I’m raring to go.’
‘You’ve got… pepper spray? What is that, a condiment or something? You just spray it on when you want some flavour?’
I laugh so hard I snort. ‘You’re a funny one, you are. It’s for self-defence. And technically, it’s not exactly the same as pepper spray, because that stuff is illegal… but it’s close enough.’
Klein’s eyes widen. ‘We’re not going to be doing anything illegal tonight. Not remotely. It’s just… I’ve got a little problem that I’m trying to find a solution to… It’s rather personal…’
I’m tempted to make some wisecrack about whether it relates to the fact that maybe he’s bi-curious, but I really don’t want to be one of those arseholes — presuming they know everything about everyone else’s gender and sexual preferences. Human beings come in all the colours of the fricking rainbow, and thank god they do. Keeps things interesting.
‘I’m recently divorced…’ Klein begins.
Bingo! He’s a divorcé. I guessed right! Try not to gloat, though, Hunter. The man is opening up to you here.
‘And the thing is,’ he continues, ‘my ex is a greedy fucking arrogant bastard pig.’
My jaw almost hits the floor. ‘Di
dn’t have you down as the cursing type,’ I say. ‘Or is it only when you’re talking about your ex?’
‘There’s nobody else in the world who manages to boil my blood in quite the same way as her,’ he tells me.
Aha. Her. I knew it. He’s straight. And since Klein is definitely not my type, why have I got this sinking feeling in my stomach right now?
‘So… are you just here out of curiosity tonight?’ I ask. ‘Now that you’re free of the bastard pig, you’re… exploring new sides to yourself?’
Klein’s eyes widen, and his hand flies over his mouth. ‘Goodness, no,’ he says. ‘Oh gosh, I hope I haven’t led you on. What with you buying me a drink and everything, and now we’re sitting here having this little chat —’
‘Relax,’ I laugh. ‘Seriously. I’m not after you. Not at all.’
That’s weird: does he look slightly disappointed now? Or is it just me? Probably just me. I always seem to get the wrong end of the stick.
‘No,’ he says. ‘Of course you’re not after me. I must be at least ten years older than you. And I’m hardly your type.’
‘That’s not true,’ I respond, giving him a playful nudge. ‘I’m totally into straight, divorced, posh men.’
‘Hey, that’s not fair,’ he laughs. ‘You make me sound so dull. I have a wild side, I’ll have you know.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I lick my lips, feeling weirdly excited.
‘Like the reason I’m here tonight…’
I scowl. ‘So… if you’re not here to get in some random guy’s pants, then why are you here?’
‘I’ve got a proposition to make,’ he replies. ‘Listen. It’s embarrassing. My wife left me for someone. Not a man. A woman. And younger than me. Much younger, actually. Eighteen. Can you believe that? An eighteen year-old woman? Eighteen? I’m thirty-seven. Over twice her age. Not only that, she’s a gosh-darned underwear model.’
‘Shit. That sucks. If it’s any consolation, she’s probably crap in bed.’
‘You think?’
‘Well, she’s only been legal two years. What does she know?’
Klein laughs. ‘You can’t be that much older than eighteen…?’
He’s clearly fishing for my age, so I tell him. ‘I’m twenty-six. Hardly jailbait. I’ve been legal for a decade now.’
‘Twenty-six, huh? I remember that age. Thinking I knew everything. Feeling like I had so much ahead of me.’
‘Come off it, mate. You’re young, you’re handsome, you’re great. Believe in yourself.’
Klein smiles. ‘You’re making me forget my story. Where was I? Oh yes. My wife. Ran off with a pretty little underwear model with massive tits and doe eyes. Well, she didn’t exactly run off with her. I caught them in bed together six months ago. My bed.’
‘Okay, now that really sucks. I hope you kicked them out on their arses.’
‘Of course I did! Met up with my wife, Charlotte, a week later. She told me that she still cared about me, but that she was after something a little more exciting. Said she wasn’t a lesbian though. Bisexual. So she didn’t leave me because I’m a man, either. Ugh. I’ve always known I was too old for her. I was just on borrowed time, I guess.’
‘I can see how she earned her name bastard pig now.’
Klein nods. ‘You’ll never guess what the underwear model’s name is.’
I shake my head. ‘Pig Fucker?’ I venture rudely.
‘Ha. No. It’s Kitty. Apparently it’s a nickname, but she likes to be called it. I mean, imagine that. Kitty with the pretty pussy.’
I drain the last dregs of my beer, feeling that urge for another drink start to build in me. ‘So, how does that relate to you being here tonight?’
‘Well, I happen to live in a rather nice house, you see.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘And Charlotte isn’t too happy about being booted out of it.’
‘Right.’
‘There’s been some threatening behaviour on my property lately. People lurking in the shadows, watching me from the road. I think Charlotte sent them there to try to scare me. To get the house back.’
‘Well, that’s shitty.’
‘It certainly is. And I’m not going to put up with it. In fact, I’ve got a plan.’
I stand up, holding up my empty glass. ‘How about we get that next drink and you tell me all about it?’
Klein stands too, holding my arm tightly, his fingers insistently digging into my flesh. ‘No. Wait. If I don’t say it now, I might never pluck up the courage…’ I can see the fight in his eyes, as though he’s wrestling with his own mind, trying to decide whether to say something or not. ‘I’ve got an idea, to protect my house, and my property,’ he begins. ‘I know it’ll work, but it’s a little far-fetched. Sounds somewhat… crazy.’
‘I get the feeling that wherever you’re going with this, you’re about to proposition me,’ I say, running my tongue across my lower lip.
‘I am. In a way. I’m, uh, I’m looking for someone to… someone to… someone to…’
It makes me wince to watch Klein struggling like this. I honestly don’t know if he’s about to try to kiss me or karate-chop me, but I’m enjoying the suspense. It’s unpredictable. And unpredictability is what I thrive on.
Klein sighs, and a pained expression appears on his face. ‘It’s no use,’ he says. ‘This is ludicrous. I can’t do it. Listen… do you want to come and work for me?’
‘Work for you?’
‘Yes. It just so happens I could do with some private security.’
‘You mean… like… a bodyguard?’
Klein smiles. ‘Yes. Exactly. I’ll pay you. Five hundred pounds a day. Until this business with my wife and her goons blows over.’
Not for the first time tonight, my jaw drops. ‘Five hundred? A day?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’ asks Klein. ‘I could probably stretch to a little more…’
‘No, no,’ I laugh. ‘Five hundred is plenty. Like, probably too much if I’m being honest, but if it’s only short-term work then… fuck it. If you can afford it, I could use it.’ You can hire actual, bona fide bodyguards for less than half that. But who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth? Especially when the horse is as handsome as Klein.
‘That’s great,’ Klein says, exhaling. ‘Really great.’
I might be wrong, but I really don’t think that’s what he was intending on asking me tonight. It was as though he swerved at the last minute and asked a different question. Which makes his proposition all the more interesting.
‘I do have one condition, though,’ I tell him. ‘I’m going to need to live in your amazing house with you, to protect you twenty-four seven.’
Klein nods. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. I think I’d feel safer with someone else in the house with me.’
‘I can’t believe that worked!’ I laugh. ‘So, I get to live in your mansion for free and get paid?’
Klein nods, and then affects a stern look. ‘Yes. At least you won’t be able to turn up late to work this way. You’ll be at work already.’
‘Very funny,’ I grimace. ‘But honestly, I’m gonna need to crash at yours starting tonight. I got thrown out of my apartment this morning for being late with the rent.’
Klein gives me a look — an expression that probably stands for something like: What have I let myself in for?
But then he chugs the rest of his drink, and chucks it down on a wooden table full of empties.
‘Come on,’ he says, grabbing hold of my hand and pulling me back towards the club. ‘I’m going to dance to at least a couple of songs tonight to celebrate. And you’re dancing with me. Then you’re going to teach me how to get served at the bar.’
I laugh. ‘You really are a man on a mission, huh?’
‘My wife’s wrong about me being boring,’ he shouts above the music. ‘She just never knew the real me!’
He pulls me towards him, pressing his body up against me. He’s skinny but muscular, and even though he
’s obviously not used to being in a place like this, with music like this, his body has a self-assuredness about it that I find very appealing. He grinds his body up against mine for a few seconds, as Jimmy Sommerville belts out the lyrics to ‘Smalltown Boy’.
Wow.
I can’t believe how into this he suddenly is. He seems possessed by some kind of incredible energy. It’s as though, for the first time in ages, he suddenly feels powerful again.
‘You’re fucking sexy as fuck right now!’ I shout out above the music.
He can’t hear a word I’m saying, and he just nods.
So, I decide to make the most of this opportunity. I press my body even closer to his and yell: ‘One day, I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard!’
Klein smiles and nods, then winds his arms around me, dancing, dancing, dancing.
3
KLEIN
* * *
‘I can’t remember when I last had so much fun,’ I say, as we get out of the taxi. ‘That trick you taught me with my elbows, jutting them out on the bar to stake my claim to a drink. Ingenious. Worked every time. Got served within seconds. I’m positively sozzled.’
Hunter laughs. ‘Sozzled? Is this how everyone speaks in Kensington?’
‘Don’t you say sozzled? What do you call it, then?’ We stand on the pavement, and I try not to collapse in a heap on the ground.
‘Wasted. Plastered. Fucked,’ says Hunter, helping to steady me and then taking my wallet out of my coat and paying the driver. ‘So, for future reference, we’ve learnt that four pints is your hard limit. But we’re better off stopping at three.’
I gasp. ‘Four pints? Is that how many we had? That’s… that’s…’
‘It’s enough to get me buzzed, and enough to put you on the floor,’ says Hunter. ‘Now come on, which way to your house?’
I snigger. ‘It’s right behind you, silly.’
‘Behind me? That’s not a house — that’s, like, the National History Museum or something.’
