Hanging Loose (12 page)

“My art history professor was very fond of the word. All those Greek statues, you know. I suddenly remembered.”

Jez had no chance to respond as I tried to strip him out of his shorts and flip him over at the same time. There were too many limbs. Once all sorted, I had him the way I wanted: naked and prone, stretched out on the sofa. I sat back across his legs to take a good look.

Against the easy lines of his back and thighs, the brazen curves of Jez’s buttocks stood out like a couple of call girls. Unlike the rest of his tanned body, they were white as cream. I gave in to temptation and tasted one. My teeth scraped against the flesh, and I had to fight the urge to bite down hard. Jez twitched. I switched to the other side for symmetry’s sake. I slipped my fingers into the cleft between, drawn by the heat and a sense of adventure. When the tip of my finger brushed against his hole, I hesitated.

“Stop!” came the muffled groan.

“You promised!” I protested.

“Bedroom.” Jez pushed us off the sofa and marched out of the room. I trailed after him, hobbling out of my jeans on the way.

Jez set things out—got the lube and condoms from the nightstand. He lay on his back and arranged pillows under his hips while I stood there like the shy kid on the first day of school. At his prompting, I lowered myself next to him. He took my hand. It could’ve been clinical if not for the feral walloping of my heart, caused by the blend of nerves and excitement.

Jez’s steady fingers guided my slippery ones to that tight, tight heat. So strange and private. Then there was that moment when my fumbling fingers stumbled upon the right spot, and Jez’s spine curved, breath and words caught in his throat for a second before rushing forth.

“Fuck! Baby, yes. Right there!”

I would have been happy to give up my original quest and instead just stroke him, lick him to see that wanton look on his face, but Jez stopped me and tossed me a slim package. I rolled the condom on my shaft with shaking fingers. I shuffled myself between his legs and lined myself up, suddenly nervous.

“It’s okay.” He was encouraging. “Just go slow first.”

I pushed in, just barely, waiting for a sign, and got it when he canted his pelvis. I moved again. Fully inside, I had to stop to remember how to breathe.

Jez rubbed my arm. “It’s good, baby. It’s good.”

That was an understatement. I choked on a laugh. I moved again, thrust, uncertain, stuttering at first, then finding rhythm. Jez’s legs wrapped around me; his hands rubbed and teased. Still I wanted more. I lowered myself to capture his lips with mine. Our tempo grew slower and sweeter. Jez’s cock, trapped between us, was slickened with sweat. We were making sinfully lubricious noises.

Jez came with his whole body tensing and face twisting as if in pain. He shouted as he dug his fingers into my back and hot stickiness shot between us. I didn’t realize how close I was until his ass clenching around my cock ripped the orgasm out of me. It took only a few more jerky thrusts before I collapsed on top of him, spent and boneless.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Jez whispered.

I rested my head over his heart, and he stroked my scalp, making me too content to be troubled. I gave a noncommittal hum in reply.

“I know I’ve been ignoring you recently,” he went on.

“A little,” I agreed.

“It’s just…”

“I know. A lot has been going on. It’s almost over, though, right?” I reluctantly pushed myself up on my elbow.

“Yeah, almost there. I won’t be able to relax completely till it’s all done. I keep thinking it still may fall through.”

“It won’t,” I said, willing it to be true. “Shouldn’t you be there now, wielding power tools or something?”

“I was told to stay away and spend some time with my…”

“Yeah?”

Jez cupped my chin and pulled me back down for a kiss.

“Thanks for spending so much time with Arthur. It should be me.”

“No problem at all. I like the old guy. It can’t be easy for you so soon after Adelle.”

“No,” Jez admitted but didn’t look like he wanted to delve.

Gnarls Barkley started belting out “Gone Daddy Gone” somewhere in the vicinity of the living room. Jez rolled out of bed with a groan and went to answer his phone. At least I got to have another proprietorial look at his ass.

He was back at the bedroom door a minute later. “Wanna go out tonight?”

* * *

We ended up at the Knitting Factory, a music club at the foot of the Hollywood Hills. Scoot and his girlfriend, Janelle, were already there. Janelle was a fiery-eyed Latina with a curvaceous bod and a bubbly laugh. We eased into a breezy conversation about nothing and everything—mostly music, appropriately. From our table on the balcony we had an odd bird’s-eye view of the bands playing, but the acoustics were good.

At one point Jez and Scoot sauntered off to get more beer, and I was left alone with Janelle.

“How long have you known Jez?” I asked her.

“Oh, only a couple of years. Since I started seeing Jasper.” She flashed her teeth at me. “It’s nice to see Jez getting serious about someone again, after…” She attempted to cover her blunder by raising the paper cup to her lips, but it was empty.

“After?” I poked.

Janelle sized me up before continuing. “He got burned. It didn’t seem like he’d get involved again anytime soon.”

“What happened?”

“I really don’t know.” She clearly tried to evade my question.

A raised eyebrow of mine begged to differ. I hoped the look I gave her was piercing.

Janelle rolled her eyes at me. “Jez was getting serious about the guy, but Ronnie was more interested in playing the field.” That fucking name again.

She went on. “Somehow he even managed to twist it like it was Jez’s fault. And you didn’t hear it from me. Jez would be pissed if he knew I was gossiping.”

“No, of course not,” I agreed.

Aside from stumbling again into Jez’s phantom ex, who I was seriously beginning to hate, it was a really good night. Beer came in cups too small, but Jez passed his to me. I had a modest buzz by the time we were to take off. I took a last dash to the john first. I was elbowing my way back when things went hinky.

From the crowd, a hand reached out and took hold of my arm. I turned toward its source with that edgy neutrality, spring-loaded to swing either cordial or hostile, depending. I wasn’t prepared for bewilderment. It was Mark Stevens in the destined-to-grace-billboards flesh.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I croaked back, face burning.

“It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too,” I lied.

“I was watching you. So you’re with blondie?” I swear his eyes twinkled. Maybe it was the lighting. “He’s hot. At least my ego isn’t so bruised from being dropped like a bad script.” To my relief, he sounded more self-mocking than resentful.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was pretty whacked out that night.”

“No hard feelings. Not like it never happened before.”

“That’s hard to believe,” I said, because even from a purely objective point of view, Mark was smoldering hot.

He laughed. “You brought me luck, you know.”

“How?”

“The pilot got picked up. We start shooting in a week.”

“That’s awesome!” I enthused, mostly because it made me feel less guilty about the whole mess.

“Yeah, I play a bad guy—sort of a small role, but I think I can make something interesting with it,” Mark chatted.

“You, a bad guy?” I raised my eyebrows. He was too good-looking for it.

“You doubt me? I’ll make a great bad guy!”

To think of it, he had a point; the best bad guys are always the sexy ones, the ones you know you should hate but can’t. Like Spike in
Buffy.

“I think the writers intend to kill me off by the end of the season,” Mark went on, “but I might be able to change their minds. So, you can imagine my surprise to see you here. I wasn’t even planning to come here tonight. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. It must be serendipity.”

“Huh?” I had no clue where he was going with this.

“Don’t you see? You’re my lucky rabbit’s foot.” With that, Mark touched my chin with one hand and kissed me right on the lips. It was utterly different than the one at the party—no tongue, no passion, only warm lips. Though they may have lingered longer than necessary. My eyes naturally drifted closed for a second but then snapped back open, and I pulled back.

“Thank you,” he said. “I guess I better make myself scarce.” And he was gone.

My puzzled eyes followed him as he melted into the throng. When I turned around, I caught Jez staring at me with an unfamiliar intensity. Our gazes held for one solid second; then he looked away.

“Fuckity-fuck-fuck,” I cursed. I plowed my way through the mass to him.

“It’s not what you think,” I blurted out in a rush.

“It’s fine,” Jez replied with disturbing calmness.

“No, you don’t understand. I met him at that party where you picked me up.” Oh great, I was digging myself deeper. I changed tack. “He thinks I bring him luck. That’s all!”

Jez rested a hand on my shoulder and rubbed my jaw with his thumb. “It’s all right,” he said, looking into my eyes. “Let’s just go, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” But I knew it wasn’t. An invisible fist clenched around my heart.

On the drive home, Jez sank into his thoughts. When we finally got back to the house, he gave me an uncharacteristically uncertain smile.

“You’d tell me if you were unhappy, right?” he asked.

“What? Yes, of course! Is this about Mark? Because I’m telling you—”

“No, it’s about you, dumb-ass. Oh c’mon, let’s make some popcorn and watch one of Adelle’s old movies,” he said with one of his familiar wide grins.

My heart finally unclenched. “Can we make out in the dark?”

“Of course!”

Chapter Fourteen

Once the collective finally got off the ground, the pattern of Jez’s comings and goings changed, but I still didn’t see as much of him as I would’ve liked. Quitting the pot dealing left him in need of a source of a reasonable income. As luck would have it, a bartending job opened up at the Beach Café. It wasn’t particularly unexpected; waiters, bartenders, cooks, and busboys came and went all the time. Roger was more than happy to hire Jez on my assurances alone or simply because he was immediately available. Ironically it made us see each other less. Jez worked nights, and I worked mornings, but it allowed us to look after Arthur around-the-clock.

Arthur was perceptibly fading away; he seemed to shrink, lose all his color. Many times I looked desperately for that roguish glint in his eyes, but to no avail. I wasn’t the only one concerned. Jez spent whole mornings sitting with him while I was at work. The time was quickly approaching when our current arrangement wouldn’t work anymore. Yet the thought of Arthur being shunted off to some impersonal hospital room was appalling to us both.

“We could move Arthur in with us,” I thought out loud one morning. I faltered: “I mean, it’s your place, but—”

“No, I was thinking the same thing,” Jez replied. “I have enough time on my hands now, and I have practice.”

“He could have my room. I never sleep there anyway.”

* * *

The prospect of delaying the inevitable just a bit longer cheered us up enough. We made plans. Some furniture would have to be moved, and Rafael could help us find an outpatient nurse to come by regularly. I felt much better when I went over to tell Arthur the news. He made appreciative noises, but I got the impression he wasn’t really paying attention. It was one of his better days. He looked the liveliest in weeks.

“Nate, would you do me a big favor?” he asked.

I nodded, wondering what it might be. I wouldn’t have guessed in a million years: Arthur handed me a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

“I quit twenty years ago but never stopped missing it. My lungs can’t take a direct hit anymore, but secondhand smoke would be heaven.”

What an unusual request. I could’ve refused, but to what end? It was too late for him to worry about secondhand smoke, and I could put up with smelling like an ashtray for a day. I didn’t smoke, but Marlboro wasn’t half as abrasive as pot.

Arthur reminisced. “Back in the day, everyone smoked. It was manly and sexy.”

“Yeah, I saw the movies.”

I lit up with the help of Arthur’s ancient lighter. I took a deep drag and blew it in his face with calculated slowness. He closed his eyes and inhaled with a blissed-out expression.

“Why ask for the moon when we can have the stars?” I purred.

Arthur looked at me, surprised, then let out a wheezing sort of chuckle. “I like your style, kid. It’s been a long time since anyone quoted Bette Davis at me.”

“I wrote a paper on
Now, Voyager
in college. ‘Secret Symbols of Desire.’ It got an A plus.”

We gossiped about Bette, Bogie, and Bacall, and other iconic smokers of the day.

“How about pipes?” I threw in the question at one point.

“It’s never been my thing. Although…” Arthur paused with confounded expression on his face. “I used to see this guy when I was young, about your age; he smoked them. He was older than me—a college professor, British to boot.” He smiled at the recollection. “He could say the filthiest things and still sound sophisticated. Kinky bastard. His accent and that sweet tobacco smell made me hornier than a dog. For years after I last saw him, I got aroused by catching that scent.” Arthur looked at me. “Haven’t thought of him for at least fifty years, but I remember it all like it was yesterday. Strange.”

I blew another lungful in his direction. We sat, I smoked, Arthur inhaled and reminisced about people, some of whom had been dead longer than I’d been alive. I listened. He rambled a bit, and when he threw out a first name, I had no idea if it was someone famous or a simple stagehand. It didn’t matter. I smoked almost half a pack by the time he got tired.

When we said good night, he patted my cheek. “I had a good time. Thank you, Nate. You’re a nice kid. Take care of Jesse.”

* * *

Jez found Arthur the next morning. The coroner later declared the cause of death to be heart failure, but I believe—and will till my own dying day—that Arthur simply decided it was time to go. On his nightstand stood a silver-framed photo of a handsome young man with ruffled blond hair and a fetching smile. I hoped they met up again.