From Morocco to Paris (18 page)

“I’m surprised you’re up this early.” Ian had a newspaper open on the table in front of him and was sipping from a coffee cup. He hardly ever got hangovers. “You were wasted last night,” Ian said.

“An understatement.” Zane looked up when the waiter came over. “Coffee, please. Black.” He looked back at Ian. “Always seems to happen when I go out with you.”

“Just like old times.”

“Yeah, well the old times are getting old.”

Zane patted himself down for his cigarettes, then realized they were somewhere in the wreckage of his room.

“You’re only as old as you feel,” Ian quipped.

“I think I’ve aged twenty years overnight, then.”

Ian took a sip from his cup and sat it down with a sigh. “Guess what? I’m buying dinner tonight.”

Zane slumped in his chair and looked at the table. He ran a finger along the spoon lying at his right hand. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Ian sounded glum, but resigned. “He said we just met, he doesn’t know me well enough to sleep with me. I like that, actually.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” Ian picked up the paper. “It means he’s not a whore. He has some morals.”

“Jesus, what does that say about you then?”

Ian chuckled, leaning back and turning a page. “I don’t deny what I am. Remember who taught you everything you know?” He winked over the paper.

Zane was too raw and too hung over to be having such a conversation. He liked hearing Davey’s side of things verified, but he didn’t like the ambition still gleaming in his brother’s eyes.

“I think,” Ian said, “me with the men and you with the women, given enough time, we could fuck the entire human race.”

Zane chuckled humorlessly and sat up. The waiter brought his coffee and put the cup down in front of him. The steam curling around his face and the smell provoked his nausea and made him draw back.

“Thanks,” Zane mumbled.

“Davey’s worth waiting for,” Ian said after the waiter walked away.

Zane slipped his hands around the cup and absorbed the warmth. He wanted to say a lot of things, but his mouth was dry and his stomach hurt too much.

“What, are you going to propose?” he managed to joke. The joke wasn’t funny, though.

Ian scoffed. “Hardly.”

“What was all that shit in the car yesterday then? About ‘settling down material?’”

“Talking out my ass. I was trying to get laid. After having a night to think about it though -- a night alone -- I think he’s worth waiting for. Not too long of course, I’m only going to be here until the end of the week…”

“God.” Zane rubbed his face. His hands were warm from the cup. “You’re in Cairo two days and you’re already in love.”

“It’s not love, it’s…involved lust.”

“That’s creative.”

Ian sat forward, grinning. Zane couldn’t blame his brother and he couldn’t hate him. Ian acted like Ian, and Zane had always acted like Ian as well, emulating him in more ways than he cared to admit. Also, Ian still knew absolutely nothing about him and Davey.

“I haven’t been turned down in a long time,” Ian said and his grin turned salacious. “Kinda exciting.”

“’Hard to get’ can be a fun game,” Zane said. He leaned over and blew across the surface of his coffee. He added softly, “Unless someone gets hurt.”

“He’s got a conscience, that’s sexy. I hardly ever meet guys with those.”

“Maybe he’s just involved with someone.”

As soon as Zane said the words, he wished he hadn’t. Not just for his own sake, but because of the look on Ian’s face.

“He isn’t, is he? You wouldn’t let me make an idiot out of myself, would you?”

Zane looked down at his coffee cup. “No. I don’t know. I don’t know much about his personal life.”

Zane wondered how many lies he could tell before noon. He also wondered why he couldn’t just pick a spot and tell Ian the truth. Ian wouldn’t judge him -- he would probably throw him a party, in fact. Still, the thought of confessing filled Zane with such nerve-jangling terror he thought he might actually vomit. He kept telling himself Ian was not their father.

“He would’ve told me if he was,” Ian said.

Zane took a tiny, experimental sip of coffee. Despite caution, the liquid burnt his tongue. He winced.

“I don’t think he is,” Zane said.

“I’ll ask him. Next time I see him.”

Zane sat his cup down. He wondered what Davey would say -- probably nothing, which only made Zane feel guiltier.

They sat for a while, Zane drinking his coffee and Ian finishing his breakfast. Zane finally ordered some food too. He felt better with something in his stomach, enough he could take some aspirin. They helped further.

As they were getting up to leave, Zane saw Cristiano and Elliot come through the door of the restaurant. Zane froze.

Cristiano looked how Zane felt. Dark circles under his eyes, face haggard, and for the first time since Zane met him, he looked unkempt. Apparently, Elliot had not woken up before Cristiano’s return the night before, because he looked quite complacent, not at all like he wanted to kill Zane. Or fire him. Or fire him and then kill him. Still, Zane approached cautiously, his gaze flicking from one to the other.

“Hey, guys,” Ian said as they met up. “How you feeling today?”

“I’m fine.” Elliot smirked. “He’s pretty bad off, though. Gonna get him some coffee.”

Cristiano met Zane’s gaze for a brief moment. He looked tense, his face uncharacteristically stony, and incredibly pale.

“Yeah, coffee. That’ll help,” Ian said and patted Cristiano’s shoulder. “Should have given you some warning before you went out drinking with the Reed brothers!”

Elliot shot Ian a look, and he and Cristiano walked off into the restaurant. Zane started out the doors to the lobby, letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“I’ll meet up with you after a bit,” Ian said. “I think I’m gonna see if I can find a little gift for Davey. You know, to apologize for my behavior last night.” He smiled. “And maybe sweeten things up a bit. I’ll see you later.”

Zane watched him go, Ian walking across the lobby with a spring in his step.

“I hear he likes pottery,” Zane said regretfully, to himself.

He slumped against the elevator wall on the way back up to his room, still too messed up to sort things out. He’d been awake most of the night, until the alcohol wore off and left him heavy and sick and wanting nothing but sleep. Mostly he’d lain on his bed, torn with indecision, alternately wanting to go find Davey and entertaining the notion of crawling into some dark corner and never coming out. He wasn’t accustomed to misery -- he had spent his entire adult life fucking anyone willing and then moving on. Emotions made things too complicated.

When he stepped out of the elevator, he saw Davey coming out of his room down the hallway. A duffel bag hung from his shoulder and he had a suitcase in each hand. He sat them down and turned to close the door.

“Davey?”

Zane walked cautiously toward him and Davey glanced up. He looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept much either. Zane stopped in front of him.

“You going somewhere?” Zane asked. He looked at the suitcases as Davey picked them up again.

“I’m going to Giza,” Davey said.

“Saul said it’ll be another two or three days. Why are you going now?”

“Never hurts to get a head start. I’m going to finish setting up wardrobe for Cristiano.”

“Maybe I should go with you.”

Davey looked at him and Zane saw his eyes were rimmed with red. They were steely too, unbearably cold, like the rest of his expression.

“No, I don’t think you should,” Davey said. “Let’s not be coy about it. I need to get away from you.”

“Davey, maybe -- “

“Save it. I’m not going to put up with your shit anymore. And I’m not sticking around until you figure out who the hell you are. I think the price might be more than I’m willing to pay.”

“How are we going to work together like this!” Zane scrabbled desperately for something, anything to make him listen, because he finally wanted to talk.

“You can stay the hell out of my way when I’m dressing Elliot.”

Davey sat one of the suitcases down, adjusted the bag on his shoulder, and pushed a hand into his jeans pocket. He pulled something out and shoved it into Zane’s hand -- the picture of them from Zane’s binder, a sparkly pink heart sticker still on one corner. They’d stuck the picture on the mirror in Davey’s room.

“You left that,” Davey said. He then picked up his suitcase and started down the hallway.

“What am I supposed to do with it!” Zane followed him.

“Burn it. Along with everything else you’ve charred in your wake.”

Davey stopped at the elevator. He started to put his suitcase down, but Zane blocked his way so he couldn’t hit the button. Davey put both suitcases down and shoved Zane to the side, then smacked the button.

“You only care about me when you’re losing me!” Davey said.

“I care about you.” Zane held his hands out, still clutching the picture. “
I care about you,”
he said desperately.

The elevator must have been on the floor directly above or below, because the doors opened quickly. Davey grabbed up his suitcases and stepped on. Zane didn’t follow him, because he didn’t want to push him so hard he actually did leave. If he got in the elevator they would fight all the way to the lobby and Davey
would
walk out.

“Davey! Will you listen to me, for just one minute? Please?”

Davey just looked at him in disgust. He turned his face away as the doors slid shut.

Zane stood outside the elevator for several moments, trembling, fighting to find an answer in his screaming head. He looked down at the picture in his hand and hit the button.

He caught up to Davey in the lobby, but only because of fate -- Ian had come back. He and Davey were standing near the doors talking and Zane stopped, then slipped behind a magazine rack to listen.

“If it was something I did last night Davey, I’m sorry…” Ian sounded just like Zane when he became desperate.

“I assure you, it has nothing to do with you. It was great meeting you. If you come to Giza with Zane, I’ll see you then. If not, have a safe trip back to California.”

Zane peeked around the rack. Davey walked out through the doors, Ian staring after him with dumbfounded longing. Zane wanted to run after him, but he couldn’t with Ian there. Davey disappeared from sight into the parking lot.

Zane stepped out from behind the rack as Ian crossed the lobby, looking bewildered. Zane intercepted him.

“What are you doing back?” Zane asked.

“I forgot my wallet.” Ian looked back at the doors. “He left.”

“Yeah.” Zane glanced toward the doors, swallowing hard. “He sure did.”

“God, I bet it’s my fault. I came on way too strong last night.”

“No, I don’t think it was that.”

“Maybe I can carve out a few more days and go with you. I really want to apologize to him.”

The hole in Zane’s stomach threatened to suck him in, and he tried to fill the space with reason.
You’ll see him again soon. No need to get upset, no need to run after him like a fool. He probably needs some time to clear his head anyway.

“What’s that?” Ian asked, touching Zane’s hand.

Zane looked down and quickly folded the picture up and put it in his pocket.

“Nothing,” Zane said, blinking. “Nothing at all.”

Ian frowned. “Zane, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Zane looked around the lobby to clear his vision and drew a deep breath. “Why don’t you get your wallet, and we’ll go sightseeing?”

Ian still looked doubtful. He glanced toward the doors, then back at Zane, brow furrowed.

“Come on,” Zane said, taking him by the shoulder. “There’s some great things we can go visit.”

***

Zane stared out over the twinkling lights of Cairo. In the distance, the winding Nile reflected the city lights and gleamed under the moonlight. The patio of the bar they had stopped at hummed with people talking. The muffled sound of music drifted from inside. Zane had found a sequestered corner and drank listlessly from his bottle of beer, leaning on the patio’s wide granite railing, alone, physically and metaphorically.

He had tried to keep himself busy and distracted all day, but to no avail. They’d visited markets, temples, and museums, lots of sightseeing to cleanse the mind. Ian seemed just as distant as Zane.

Zane would laugh at the irony they were brooding over the same person for once, but he had forgotten how to laugh. He wondered where Davey was tonight, and if he would hate him forever.

Someone stepped up beside him and leaned on the railing as well. The scent of Ian’s cologne wafted on the breeze, the same he’d worn since they were teenagers. They both stared toward the river, silent.

“I got myself a few more days,” Ian finally said. He looked over at Zane and nudged him with his elbow. “It’s good to be the boss.”

Zane took a drink of his beer -- Stella, a staple in every alcohol-vending establishment in Cairo. Ian had one too.

“Something’s eating at you,” Ian said. “I think I know what it is.”

Zane looked at him with apprehension, a reaction he couldn’t smother. “What?”

“You need to tell me something. About him.”

Zane swallowed and looked out at the lights again.

“Tell me,” Ian said. “Tell me what it is you know about him.”

Zane took another drink of his beer, trying to get his throat to work. He found the words, but they came out thick and unsteady.

“He’s in love with someone,” Zane said.

“I fucking knew it.” Ian clenched his hands around his bottle. “
Fuck
.”

Zane didn’t know where to go from there. He trembled, so much his bottle shook. He sat the beer down on the railing and rubbed his hands together, trying to calm down.

“Damn it, Zane.” Ian sighed heavily. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me before I threw myself at him? How could you let me do that?”

Zane realized he had come to the moment, the moment he had dreaded since yesterday, just as harrowing as he feared.

Zane’s voice came out choked, the lights blurring before him, “Because it’s more complicated than that.”