Brick by Brick (13 page)

“Natalie? That
is
you. Hi.”

“Oh, hi, Cynthia. What’re you doing shopping here?”

“Doug is going out of town later this week, and he needs those little sample sizes of everything. This store always seems to have more of those that the one near us.” Cynthia looked at Gage, then lifted her eyebrows, asking.

I smiled and nodded. “Where’s he going?”

“Houston. Naturally, in the summer. Next winter, they’ll find a reason for Boston or Toronto. It’s none of my business, but I couldn’t help noticing your lotion. I’m looking for a new brand. You like it?”

“A lot. It’s on sale,” I told her.

“This line’s barely moving anyway. Think I’ll grab one, and maybe pick up a magazine. See you!” She moved toward Gage’s line. “Excuse me; excuse me,” she murmured and cut through it right in front of him, touching his arm “accidentally.” I thought I saw him suppress a smile.

Back at the car, Gage asked permission before stowing his drugstore bag next to my feet. “I think there’s still time,” he said.

“Time for what?”

“Time before the delivery to buy sheets and stuff.”

“What, they’re bringing it today?” He must have paid extra.

“Yeah. First delivery on the afternoon truck. They’ll take the old stuff and trash it or donate it, depending on condition. Sheets?”

I directed him to a mall, air-conditioned to the point of discomfort for anyone whose clothes were damp with sweat because she’d looked for imaginary sunglasses. He zeroed in on the most expensive of the big department stores, where we had the bed and bath section to ourselves.

“I’ve set up housekeeping a lot of times. I like three sets,” Gage said. “One on the bed, one in the wash, one clean and ready to go.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Also, extra cases, since they wear out first. I always try to get everything to mix and match. We’ll get three mattress pads, so we don’t get sweat on it. A blanket, a bedspread. Natalie, stop.”

“What?”

“Freaking out over what I’m spending. Your eyes are spinning like pinwheels. I broke your bed. I replaced it, with one big enough to include me once in a while, so what I’m buying is for me too.”

“All right. But James isn’t going to like it.”

It took us both to carry all the big plastic bags into the house. “Okay, then,” he said. “I was thinking maybe I’d come by after dinner, if I’m invited.”

“We eat around six, so not before six thirty. I don’t have enough for three, and there’s not time to go to the store. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to feed me every night.”

We shared an awkward moment when he left, ending with a kiss on the cheek and a nervous laugh. “Neighbors,” he said and waved as he backed out.

A wall of reeking heat greeted me in the bedroom. I stripped the sheets off the old bed. Fresh yesterday, they were gross today, with spots and streaks I didn’t want to identify.

Once I’d taken them out of the bedroom, it smelled all right again, although the temperature remained stifling. My pounding head reminded me that I hadn’t slept much the night before.

Later, after the bed came, I’d catch a long nap on the sofa. Meanwhile, at least one set of the new sheets should be washed before we used them, and there was the drugstore stuff to put away and the kitchen to clean.

I put the sheets in the wash, then took the drugstore bag to the bathroom.

We’d switched bags. Gage’s purchases surprised me.

Chapter Seventeen

I’d guessed correctly that he was in some discomfort; he’d bought two painkillers, one promising it would let him sleep, and a bigger size of the same ointment I’d tossed into my bag to give him. What startled me was the disposable enemas, ten of them. Was he sick? Or were they part of some ridiculous regimen to stay camera slim?

Think, Natalie! If your new lover was only going to enter you there, and using your mouth was not an option, wouldn’t you make sure the way was clear? Of course.

Better for him, and no embarrassing possibilities, or stinking sheets, for you. Still, the image it created disturbed me yet kept popping into my thoughts until the delivery guys arrived.

The new bed dominated the room. The queen had never flaunted itself as a sexual playground, and certainly not boasted that it could easily accommodate three.

That was a pleasure to think about. It carried me through moving the sheets to the dryer, then the necessary housework and even a bit of dinner preparation. Oddly, it wasn’t so much who would do what to me that occupied my thoughts, but imagining what the men might to do one another, and how they’d each react, that carried me through. James would certainly see to my pleasure, but he and I had done everything. What he did with Gage was fresh, exciting for its newness, even for me.

I made up the new bed, not minding that I was sweating bullets by the time I finished. It seemed enormous, trampoline-sized. What was next, a mirror on the ceiling?

James called when I’d just finished showering. “Yell at me now, but be quick,” he said. “Danny never showed up today, because he got pulled over last night and had crystal meth in the car. Idiot violated his probation. We have to finish this step today to let it cure overnight. I got most of a crew wanting the overtime. I should be there by dinner.”

“But that’ll have you working through the heat.”

“It passed a hundred hours ago. We’ve got water and shade and a job to do. I’ll be there by six. Can we push dinner back long enough for me to catch a shower?”

“Of course.”

By six thirty, James wasn’t home yet, which didn’t really surprise me. If I worried every time he was late, I’d fret to death.

Gage’s Porsche idled at the curb for a long minute before he cut the engine. He emerged with my drugstore bag in one hand.

“Hi. I must’ve grabbed the wrong one.”

“Aren’t you the diplomat? I’m the one who brought in ‘my’ bag. Come in.”

“Thought you’d never ask. God, it’s like two hundred degrees out there.”

“Barely half that.” I handed over his bag. “I didn’t mean to snoop, but I saw what you bought. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. You bought two painkillers and the big yellow tube because you’re just peachy.”

Gage Strickland’s angular face was improved by the abrupt flush of pink on his cheeks. “Uh, James was, you know, enthusiastic. After the way things were before, I couldn’t stop him over a little chafing.”

“Chafing? The sheets had blood,” I said. “I thought I’d started my period.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that, but yeah, I guess I bled. Not a lot, and it stopped. Now I’m just kind of, you know, raw? I opened the tube you bought. Keep the big one.”

“I was buying it for you. Should you see a doctor?”

“God, no. The tabloids would love that. It wouldn’t even be original, just one more pretty-boy actor who’s rumored to be gay, no matter how gorgeous the women he’s seen with are. Like you.”

“Oh, right.” My turn to blush.

“To me, you are.” He smiled handsomely. “Could I get a glass of water, so I can take a couple of these pills?”

“Me too,” James said, coming in the side door.

“Hi. I didn’t hear the truck.” I kissed him.

He kissed back, the perfunctory kind. His face was red, his hair damp with sweat. “It stalled right in the driveway, so I rolled in. Hand me a glass too. What pills?”

Gage didn’t answer, just held his hand under the faucet until it ran cool, or less warm anyway, then filled his glass.

“Tell him,” I said.

He told the kitchen window instead. “My ass is really sore, bad enough that I need to take something for it. Sorry.”

“Sorry for what, not being available? Jesus. I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t know I was hurting you.”

“Just a little, and only at the end.”

I remembered him wincing, and his relieved expression when James finally finished. Why the lie?

“Well, next time I hurt you, tell me.”

Gage nodded, but I knew another lie when I saw it. He wouldn’t stop James unless he had an alternative to offer. Instead he’d allow injury.

That couldn’t lead to anything but trouble. Should I speak up if I was sure James was hurting Gage?

I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. “Listen, Gage, I don’t mean to be rude, but James is running late, obviously, and we still need to eat, once he gets cleaned up.”

“I know. Go shower, James. I’ll help Natalie.”

“Take your time,” I told my husband. “If you want to soak until you cool off, this will wait.”

James returned, damp-combed and sweet-smelling, to another place. Gage had not only set a nice table for two, but also closed the blinds, lit candles, and poured three glasses of wine.

“Is there a dress code? I can change.”

Only a teenager would think he was cool to let that much of his underwear show through the splits in yet another pair of ancient Levis.

“You look good to me,” Gage said, setting his wine on the kitchen counter. He came to the table and pulled back a chair. “Madame?”

I sat and let him push me in. James seated himself and reached for the bread sticks before his napkin.

“Good evening,” Gage said. “My name is Gage, and I’ll be your server. I took the liberty of pouring you this evening’s featured wine, a modest fume blanc with citrus and flint undertones.”

We tasted. “Very nice,” I said.

Gage presented the spinach salad with raspberry vinaigrette. “Enjoy,” he said and retreated to the kitchen.

“He’s our waiter?” James asked, his voice low, hiding his amusement.

“I think he’s just goofing around, keeping himself busy. What else is he supposed to do, since he’s already eaten?”

“It’s weird, being waited on at home.”

“Get used to it,” Gage called. “Pretend I’m not here.”

“Right,” James said. “So, how was your day?”

“Pretty busy. We have a new bed, and new sheets, which I washed. Oh, and I saw Cynthia at the drugstore. Your sunscreen is in the kitchen.”

“Good, don’t let me forget it in the morning. How’s Cynthia?”

“Fine. She was buying travel sizes. Doug’s going to Houston.” I paused, remembering her basket. “He uses hair spray, did you know?”

“I knew he used something. I don’t know what I’ll do when I start to lose my hair.”

“If. I hope.”

“What, you won’t like me bald?”

To my surprise, we forgot about Gage and just talked, like any night.

Gage exchanged our empty salad dishes for our plates. “How was the salad?”

“Very nice,” James said, just as if Gage were really our waiter.

“I’ll pass your compliments to the chef.” He disappeared, and we started talking again, this time about his employee Danny. Sure he was a good worker, and fast, but James couldn’t count on him to stay out of jail. He suspected Danny’d come to work high a few times too. “He’s a liability. He could get hurt or hurt somebody else. I’m letting him go.”

Gage cleared our plates and poured a little more wine. “Living room?” he suggested.

With James looking over his shoulder, our guest scanned our eclectic CD collection, his expression flitting from admiration to disgust to puzzlement before he chose my favorite New Age-jazz hybrid, great as background music but better for careful listening. How did he guess? He frowned at the CD player but figured it out quickly enough.

“Okay? Now what?” Gage said, quickly adding, “Not that there has to be any ‘what.’ I’m fine with just hanging out. James is probably tired.”

“Maybe he’d like to fool around but take it easy,” I suggested, sinking to my knees.

James turned, centering his pelvis in front of my face. “I told you she was the smart one.”

Gage stepped close, then back. “This part’s always so awkward, and with three it’s just that much worse.”

“Stand right next to me,” James urged him, “so you can see everything.”

I set my hand on the fly of my husband’s ancient jeans, soft as deerskin, savoring the contours of James’s fledgling erection. I massaged it, looking up for his reaction while he grew to full size beneath my hand. His cue was clear, a head gesture toward Gage:
him too.

Gage’s jeans were thicker, but he was already fully hard within them. I pressed my tongue to the cloth. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

“Show me you want more,” I said. “Both of you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Almost in unison, the men unzipped and slid their Levi’s onto their legs. Freed, their erections bobbed before my face. Jamie’s, long and delicately pale pink, the glans one shade deeper, rose from burnished gold curls, the penis of a gentleman-aristocrat, the sort whose portraits hung in gilded frames. Yet he laid brick.

Rising from dense blue-black tangles, the penis of the
artiste
was a workingman’s, brawny and textured with veins. The moist tip of its decidedly rosy head peeked from the uncircumcised sheath the color of chocolate milk. I could not resist giving a chaste, closed-mouth kiss to the reddish glans the moment I saw it.

I pulled James closer, so he and Gage stood touching from rib to bare hip, the heads of their penises bouncing only inches apart. Gage circled James’s ribs with an arm. Seconds later, James put his arm around Gage’s.

They watched me take James in my mouth. I swirled my tongue on him as he entered, sucked slightly when he left, lavished him with my mouth and my love. I truly relished the smoothly rich taste of the man, very like the fresh lobster we’d enjoyed so much at Cape Cod.

I turned to Gage, who pushed back his own foreskin. “Watch your teeth,” he said.

“What’s this?” Stupid, since it was so obvious. Two pairs of quarter-inch silver balls adorned the head of his penis, one above the other.

“It’s called an ampallang. Well, a double ampallang.”

“Holy shit.” James leaned over, examining the tiny silver barbell rods which passed sideways through the meaty part of the glans, presumably just missing Gage’s urethra, and the round studs on both ends. “Why on earth would you poke holes in your cock?” He stood up again, his hand on his own erection. It had wilted a little.

“I got it done after I had to fly back to LA. One piercing for each of you. I knew they’d heal slow and I couldn’t have sex until they did, but once I realized I wouldn’t see you before I had to go on location, decision made.”