Love Beyond Words (City Lights: San Francisco Book 1) (12 page)

David had never pretended to understand Julian’s artistic process and he never cared to. His books were good—astonishing, if one believed the critics—and he was glad for that. They assured Julian more money with each publication. The money, invested properly, assured David of continued employment. To him, the novels—which he’d never read—were the means by which he could stay close to Julian, and for that reason alone, he cherished them in a way no one could understand.

“Why there?” David asked. “Why not just work in your library, free of distractions…?”

“It’s just…how it is,” Julian said. “The book demands it. If I were to leave the café, the whole structure would fall apart. If it didn’t have Natalie’s presence it would wither and die like a plant shoved in a closet. I can’t let it perish like that.” He looked at David. “I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

David sat back in his chair. This was more complicated than he had thought. The fact Julian thought he was in love with this silly girl was surmountable; he could poison his thoughts against her given time, as he had with Samantha. But Julian was caught up in some ridiculous notion that his writing was connected to Natalie, as if he couldn’t find some other dingy café in the city to write in. What possible difference could one make over another? David couldn’t fathom it.

“I’m happy for you that your book is going well. But maybe it’s best if you give yourself a break from that girl and try to finish it here. A change in perspective might do you some good.”

Julian rose and rested his hand on his shoulder. David’s skin tingled pleasurably at the touch.

“I know you think I’m afflicted with a crazy eccentricity, but it is what it is. I have to go back. I can’t live like this anymore.”

David’s throat went dry. “Live like what?”

Julian didn’t answer, but smiled ruefully. “Merry Christmas, David. Go home now,” he said as he retreated to his room. “Your family will think I’m a tyrant to have you work on the holiday.”

It wasn’t fair, David thought with a curse, as he left the penthouse and keyed the code behind him. He was working so hard to protect Julian. It wasn’t fair that it should be this difficult, or that Julian’s love should be spent on an unworthy nobody instead of on him. The elevator took him down, out of the heights of the city, to the street.

He got into his fire-engine red Audi Quattro—Julian paid him well—and drove with sullen lethargy back to his parent’s home in Colma
.
A city decorated with graveyards. A city where the dead outnumbered the living. David shuddered as he drove past row after crooked row of headstones, imaging his own: neglected and flowerless if he failed. It was a strong reminder that coffee shop Natalie was the least of his worries.

The following day David went to United One Bank and asked for Grace Choi. She smiled warmly at him as she prepared the envelope. “I trust the homeless shelter had a wonderful Christmas?”

David blinked. “What? Oh, yes. They did.”

She passed him the withdrawal form and a pen. “Thanks to your generosity.”

Her smile made his teeth ache. “And now I’m hoping they have a Happy New Year as well,” he said.

“I’m sure they will.” Grace Choi discreetly counted out twenty thousand dollars and handed him the bulging envelope that he slipped into his briefcase. “You’re doing a good thing,” she called after him when he strode for the exit.

He shoved open the glass door. “I know.”

#

It was early for the club to be open. Sharp shards of cold December light pierced David’s eyes as he drove along Mission Street. It wasn’t even noon but he recognized Cliff’s white pick-up in the Club Orbit’s tiny back parking lot. David’s heart thudded dully in his chest. He pulled up next to the truck, glass crunching under his tires. If he pulled a nail out of one of the Audi’s tires later, he thought, he’d be pissed.

From behind, Orbit looked less like a nightclub, and more like a run-down, one-story business that might sell siding or do car detailing. Dirty white walls tagged with unintelligible graffiti faced the parking lot. Adjacent to a shuttered, barred window, was a backdoor that sealed the place shut. David knocked on it smartly and squared his shoulders. It was humiliating enough, what he had to do. They didn’t have to read it on his face.

Cliff Tate answered the door himself. His brother, Garrett, the ugly blond beast of a bouncer, must not be in yet. Cliff was a fatter, older version of Garrett, and the owner, proprietor and bartender of the club. It was to this odious man David had inadvertently spilled Julian’s secret.
To have that day back…

Cliff blinked into the sunlight. “What? Oh, it’s you.” He held out his hand in an indifferent, presumptive manner that made David bristle.

David handed over the envelope. “January’s payment,” he said coldly, as if he were the one collecting.

Cliff peered into the envelope and flipped through the bills with his thumb. He nodded and started to shut the door on David. “See you next month.”

“Cliff, wait.”

The man halted the door, not bothering to conceal his irritation. “Yeah?”

David swallowed. “How many more? It’s been eight months. I can’t keep doing this…”

Cliff heaved a sigh. “Every month, Dave. Every month you give me this tired song and dance about how you can’t keep doing this, and every month you keep doing this. So let’s just spare each other the spiel. You
will
keep doing this so long as I tell you to. If you want your boy to keep his cover—and his brains—intact, that’s all you gotta know. There? Feel better? Okay, bye-bye now.”

The door closed and David heard the clicking and sliding of at least three locks. He clutched his stomach as the burn of his ulcer flared. “It’s not fair. Not fair at all.”

He sped from the driveway, his tires spitting gravel and glass in a satisfying hail against the side of the club. “Serves them right,” he muttered.

When he reached his apartment in Bernal Heights, the right front tire was flat.

In mid-January the three friends met up in Liberty’s favorite bar in the Mission where they sipped margaritas under the watchful gazes of Carmen Miranda and James Dean. Cuban music filled the darkened spaces, and the
crack
of a pool game starting sounded from behind them. Liberty and Marshall bickered and gossiped as per usual, both seeming to have forgotten about Julian. Natalie thought that was appropriate.

“I’m going to get drunk,” she announced.

“I second that.” Liberty leaned over the bar and hailed the bartender who knew her by name.

Marshall cocked a brow at Natalie. “You okay?”

“I survived the holidays.”

He watched her. “If you say so.”

Liberty procured another round of cocktails but instead of fulfilling her vow to get drunk, she sipped slowly at her margarita and listened to her friends’ good-natured griping.

“What happened to New Year’s?” Marshall wondered. “Came and went. Just like that.”

Liberty sighed. “Yeah, it sucked.”

“I was stuck at this ridiculous party in Newark, New Jersey for god’s sake.” Marshall punctuated his words with a sloshing cocktail. “And this guy, an ex-cast member of Rent, plants one on me at midnight. I said, ‘Honey, just because we’re the only two gay men in
Newark
doesn’t mean we have go and make some sort of
statement.
”

Liberty scowled. “So you socked him one?”

“Oh, no, we made out like bandits,” Marshall said. “You have to remember, I was in
Newark
for god’s sake.”

“And what about you, Lib?” Natalie asked. “Kiss anyone?”

“I don’t kiss and tell, New Year’s or not.”

“That would be a ‘no’,” Marshall said.

“Shut up.”

Natalie toyed with her swizzle stick until she realized her friends had gone silent and were watching her. “What?”

“Spill it, girl,” Liberty said. “What’s with the manic depression?”

“What…What do you mean?”

“Until, like,
this morning
you haven’t answered my phone calls or emails or texts or Facebook messages—”

“I’m not on Facebook.”

“A rare and endangered specimen of humanity,” Marshall commented.

“Whatever,” Liberty scoffed. “The point is, getting you here was a minor miracle and now you’ve clammed up. It’s one thing to be a little mopey; hell, my PMS would kill a lesser woman. But this is different. What gives?”

“Okay,” Natalie said with a sigh. “But let’s sit somewhere quieter.”

The bar had a patio out back; they took a wooden table in a corner, and Marshall and Liberty sat to one side, to give her room. She offered a grateful smile but it wavered and quickly vanished. “I had a date with Julian.”             

The responses were simultaneous.

“
What?”

“
Who?”

Liberty elbowed Marshall. “You know. Julian…from the coffee shop. The creepy weird one who hangs out all night,
journaling
.”

“There’s nothing creepy or weird about him,” Natalie said tiredly, but Liberty didn’t seem to have heard.

“Hold up. You had a date? When?”

“On Christmas Day. He took me to a nice restaurant—”

“Christmas?” Liberty snapped. “That was ages ago!
Last year,
if you want to technical about it.”

“Liberty…” Marshall said in a low voice.

“I’m sorry, I just
assumed
that friends would share this sort of information as it happened.” She lit a cigarette with a huff.

Marshall was more conciliatory. “Why didn’t you tell us, honey?”

“Because there’s nothing to tell. We had a nice lunch and…that’s it.”

“What do you mean, that’s it?”

“Just…nothing happened. We kissed and—”

“You
kissed
him?” Liberty’s eyes flashed. “What the exact hell, Natalie?”

“Liberty, for chrissakes, let her tell the damn story.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how all this happens without so much as a phone call.”

Natalie put her hands over her eyes. “I couldn’t call you. It’s too embarrassing.”

Liberty tamped her cigarette out and asked in a stubbornly softer tone, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Natalie said miserably. “Everything was just lovely and then it all fell apart. He had something he wanted to tell me but was afraid, and I was afraid to hear it. The date ended about as awkwardly as you can imagine—even by my standards—and I just…I ran away and I haven’t heard from him since. Okay? Happy? Because I’m not.” She shook her head, disgusted with herself, as tears began to well up. “And of course I have to cry about it. Again. Because all I do is cry. Instead of talking and figuring stuff out, I cry. So there you go.”

“I didn’t realize you liked him so much,” Liberty said. “Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure he wanted to tell me he didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Marshall said. “You two kissed—”

“Yes, but that’s when it got so weird. Maybe I’m a terrible kisser. God knows I’m out of practice.” Natalie waved her hands. “Anyway, it’s been two weeks. He hasn’t been back to the café since.” She dabbed her eyes with a cocktail napkin. “That means it’s over, right? I think it’s over.”