Chiaroscuro (36 page)

"You missed your calling as a motivational speaker."

"Columnist, motivational speaker, the only difference is I travel less." He paused. "So. You're going to talk to him, right?"

"We've established there will be talking."

"And you're going to say," Dune prompted.

"I'm going to say…" He stared out the window again. There was the right thing to do and the selfish thing to do, and the selfish thing would be to ask Jamie to stay.

Everyone he knew was convinced he was a selfish ass, it seemed, but he could prove them wrong. He needed to prove them wrong. "I'm going to say, ‘Jamie, go with Stuart.’"

Dune whispered, "Oh, Benjie, no."

"Yes. It's the right thing. Stuart loves him, Dunie, and I don't. I know you think you've got this whole thing figured out, but you don't, okay? I can't be what Jamie needs. So I'll let him go. That's what I've got to do."

There was a long silence on Dune's end, and then he said in a subdued tone, "Well, if you're convinced that's best, then that's that. I'm just sorry, I guess."

"Jamie will be fine. I'll be fine. Think of all those weddings that will be coming my way." The thought of handsome men in formal wear, his for the choosing, did not cheer him up. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure," said Dune, still subdued, and Ben hung up the phone.

He'd miss Jamie, but he'd get over him. In a few months, Jamie would be nothing more than just another fuck--the most interesting of them all, the most entertaining, the sexiest and sweetest--

Shut up now, he told that nagging voice and decided to go for a run.

***

Ben saw Jamie's car in the parking garage on Sunday when he got home from his afternoon out. He forced himself not to run up to Jamie's apartment at once, but instead went to his own, hung up his raincoat, and put away the t-shirts and novels he'd bought at the flea market.

He'd bought old pulp novels again. It was a habit now: the vendors who carried them knew to put their most interesting covers aside for him. They'd be a good excuse to see Jamie, at least, and a good goodbye present.

Ben sighed, paused in front of a mirror long enough to check his hair, and carried the novels up to Jamie's apartment. He knocked on the door and rocked back on his heels as he waited for Jamie to answer.

It took a few minutes and a muffled, "Don't go, I'm here," before Jamie threw open the door. He looked bright-eyed and cheerful, wearing soft and well-worn jeans and a black t-shirt that read 'Plays well with others' in white text.

Ben raised his eyebrows. "You feel the need to advertise now?"

"I don't want people thinking I'm untouchable," Jamie said, beaming, and held out his hands to Ben. "I've called you a few times; did you just get in?"

"Yeah, I went out. Shopping. You know. Oh," he said and put the novels in Jamie's hand. "Present for you."

Jamie laughed out loud and looked through the novels as he stepped back to let Ben in. "These are fabulous. Thank you, Benjie." He stood up on his toes a moment to kiss Ben's cheek. "I have something for you, too. Want a bottle of pinot noir?"

"Um, sure." He watched Jamie get the bottle from the pantry, and said as Jamie placed it in his hands, "Did you choose this or did Stuart?"

"I did," Jamie said pointedly. "I'm perfectly capable of choosing a bottle of wine."

"It looks good. Thank you." He held the bottle in the crook of his arm, feeling awkward and uncertain, and then put it down on the kitchen counter. "So you liked Napa?"

"It was all right. Very pretty. I got a lot of drawing done. I have another bottle--shall we crack it open and have a talk?"

"Sure, why not."

"Fab," Jamie said and opened another bottle, pouring them each a glass. He handed one to Ben. "How's your week been?"

"A little crazy. I'm leaving for Vegas tomorrow."

"Vegas! What's in Vegas?"

"The baking competition. Somebody dropped out and they asked me to replace him--so they'd have enough competitors to make it interesting, I think--so I'm leaving Monday morning and I should be back Wednesday or Thursday."

"That's awfully fast. There's no time to prepare."

"It's a surprise theme," Ben said with a shrug. "We won't know what we're baking on Tuesday until sometime Monday night." He took a drink, letting the wine sit on the back of his tongue before he swallowed. "And I think I'm going to stay an extra day. It's been a while since I've been to Vegas."

"Oh," Jamie said again. "Take in a show, gamble a little…."

"Yeah. I've been wanting to see Penn and Teller. No strip clubs, though. Oddly enough it's hard to find any that cater to my tastes."

"There's a dance troupe from Australia that's all blokes and they dance in work boots and denim shorts. You'd like that."

"I'll look for that. Um. So, how's Stuart?"

"As he ever is. A bit smug and with something to say about everything." He swirled the glass. "You know, I was only seventeen when we met. He swept me off my feet, quite literally. Looked after me, took care of me, when I needed it most."

"Yeah," Ben said softly and looked away. "So when are you leaving for London?"

Jamie said, "I'm not."

Ben looked down at his glass a moment. "Jamie--"

"I know what you're going to say, but hear me out, okay? I did a lot of thinking this week. And, and, the thing is, I want to be with you." He looked up at Ben with wide gray eyes. "And that's what it comes down to for me. I only want to be with you. I don't want to change you. I don't want to make demands on you. I just want to be with you. There has to be a way to make that work."

Ben touched Jamie's face lightly. "Jamie--there isn't."

Jamie watched him and swallowed.

Ben said slowly, "Go with Stuart to London. He'll look after you the way that you deserve. He came all this way just to see you again--that has to mean something."

Jamie's downed another gulp of wine. "I don't want somebody just because they want me. It is about what I want sometimes, you know."

"I know."

"And I want you. And you want me, I know you do."

"I do," Ben admitted. "But sexual chemistry doesn't mean we're meant to be together. Stuart--Stuart can look after you in ways that I can't. He's your equal in ways that I'm not. He's--"

"My equal," Jamie repeated and shook his head. "Stuart doesn't want me as a partner. He wants a protégé. That's what he does, Benjie: he seduces, he mentors, and when he gets bored he leaves. I know he thinks that he won't, but he will. I've no interest in doing that again."

Ben rolled the wine glass between his fingers and sighed. "He wants to take care of you."

"I don't want him taking care of me. I'd much rather take care of you."

"Jamie--"

"Just say you love me, Benjie," Jamie said, putting down his glass so he could take hold of Ben's waist. "Just say you love me and we'll go from there."

"Jamie," Ben whispered and moved his hands away. "I'm sorry."

Jamie clung to Ben's hands as Ben tried to pull them out of his grip. "You're not serious."

"I am." He nodded slowly. "I'll miss you--but I'm not going to be the one to hold you back from the life you could have. Stuart can give you the world--"

"I don't want the fucking world!" Jamie said, dismayed and sorrowful. "Benjie. Please. Don't do this. I want you. I love you."

"I'm sorry," Ben said and swallowed hard. "I just--I can't be what you need." He hesitated, then held Jamie's cheek and lightly kissed his lips. "Go be happy," he whispered, and left Jamie's apartment.

Back in his own, he looked at the bland white walls and realized he had to get out of there. He picked up his ticket from the cooking channel and called the airline. "Hello," he said to the pleasant-voiced woman who answered him, "I have a flight booked to Las Vegas for tomorrow night and I'd like to change it to tonight. Is there anything open?"

She could arrange it: there was fee that he could easily cover, and he would need to be at the airport at least two hours before the flight began to board. He was packed within minutes, called his parents to let them know where he would be, left a message on Dune's machine and called a taxi to take him to the airport.

Once the flight was airborne, Ben leaned back into the seat and exhaled. By the time he got back, he was certain, Jamie would be on his way to London with Stuart.

And he'd….he'd learn to live without him. He'd done it before quite easily. He could do it again.

You're such a liar, he thought and closed his eyes.

***

In all his planning, Jamie had never imagined that Ben wouldn't want him. Of course Ben would want him--Ben had wanted him from the first time they met, why would this change?

Ben's refusal hurt like he'd stomped on Jamie's heart with a hob-nailed boot.

"He's left for Las Vegas," said Dune when Jamie called him.

"He said I should go with Stuart."

"Are you going to?"

Jamie shook his head, then remembered they were on the phone. "I don't know. Right now I almost want to just to spite him."

"I'm beginning to think I should quit the advice business," Dune said gloomily. "Never before have I been so very, very, very wrong."

"No," Jamie said. "Dune knows all. That's still true."

"Except for the part where Ben didn't say he loves you madly and is going to spend the rest of his life with you."

"I don't think Ben would say that even if he felt it."

Dune slowly breathed out. "Okay. So. Do I need to buy you a going-away present?"

He thought about that a moment: going back to London, being with Stuart again, being his protégé, his student, his lover. Being completely under his thumb, even if the sex and the gifts and the trips to Paris and Rome made up for it.

Or being with Ben.

"No," Jamie said out loud. "I think I need to be in Vegas."

"Yes!" Dune shouted, triumphant. "Road trip!"

***

Ben spent his first night in Las Vegas in a budget hotel off the Strip--the first place he tried, and it was sufficient for one night--and spent the day wandering through various casinos. He gambled a little, ate at a few buffets, and looked for presents to bring back home.

Finally it was time to check in with the competition committee at the Rio. He was the first to arrive and the only chef not to bring an assistant, but there simply hadn't been time to expect Julio to put his life on hold for a few days and come along. His room was comfortable and had a good view of the city: he opened the curtains wide and lay down, then took out his sketchbook from his duffel bag and started sketching ideas, even though the theme wouldn't be announced until the next day and all the chefs had arrived.

Someone knocked on his door: he opened it to find one of the assistant producers, a bouncy young woman named Heather who had a camera crew with her. "Ready to talk about filming?" she chirped.

"Er--sure." He let them into the room. "I've never acted or anything--"

"Oh, it's not like acting at all," she said breezily. "Just be yourself--be as natural and relaxed as you can. When we do interviews look at the interviewer, not the camera, and the crew knows to be as unobtrusive as possible while the baking is going on. Are you sure you don't want your assistant?"

"I'm sure."

"Shall we do a practice interview? Get you used to the camera?" She whipped out a notebook and the sound guy set up his microphone.

Ben looked at the three of them, sighed slightly. "Okay. Probably a good idea. Should I change my clothes or anything?"

"No, you're fine." She closed the curtains a little and rearranged the chairs in front of the window. "Okay. Are we ready?" she asked the camera crew, who both indicated they were. "So." She turned a full-wattage smile on Ben. "Who is Ben Gallagher?"

"Um," said Ben.

"What's your story? What's your history? What's your family like? How did you get into the business? Tell our viewers why they should root for you."

"Oh," Ben said. This was all pretty easy, actually. "My family came to America from Ireland in 1847 and heard there was land for cheap in California, and while they couldn't quite afford farm land they could afford to open a bakery. People always need bread, right? So we've fed forty-niners and we've fed soldiers and we've fed hippies and we've fed--well, we've fed San Francisco for a hundred and fifty years."

"So you've grown up in the bakery business." She nodded, scribbling.

"Yes. I've always loved cooking." He fidgeted. "Sorry. It's easier to talk about the bakery than myself."

"It can be difficult, getting used to the camera," she said soothingly. "But you're very photogenic, if that helps any."

He chuckled. "Thanks."

"And your family? Wife, kids?"

"No wife, no kids. I'm gay."

"Ah, okay," said Heather with another nod. "Your boyfriend didn't come along?"

"No boyfriend." Just a Jamie. Except not. Somebody else's Jamie now.

"All right. Now, the bakery is called Gallagher and Sons--do you have brothers who work there as well?"

"Two of the three--Michael and Christopher. I have another brother, Gabriel, who works for the San Francisco fire department. And there's cousins who come and go."

"So it's a true family business."

"Absolutely. The family pride and joy."

"The other chefs have some family here--did you bring anyone along for moral support?"

"Not this time." Jamie probably would have come, if he'd asked him to. Ben sighed.

"It was pretty short notice," she said apologetically. "We can't thank you enough for filling in. Do you have any questions for me?"

He grinned. "When do we start?"

Heather laughed. "Well, come down to the conference room in about two hours and the other chefs should be there. We'll do an interview for the broadcast before the announcement of the theme. Is there anything you don't want me to ask about?"

"No, I think I'm okay with anything you'd like to ask." He drummed his fingers on his knees, anxious to get downstairs and get started.

"Okay, then. We'll see you in two hours. We'll put a little makeup on you--just a little, for the cameras--and then this whole thing will start." The light on the camera finally went off and Heather gathered up her notes. "You have my cell number if you need anything?"