Second You Sin (24 page)

All in Love Is Fair

Freddy and I parted ways at the hospital, he anticipating an evening of boosting Cody’s confidence with what I could only assume would be a variety of prurient and possibly back-breaking acrobatics, and I looking forward to a less playful, but hopeful y more productive and educational dinner with Tony and friends.

What can I say—I’m a giver?

I got home in time to make myself presentable for my semi-boyfriend. But first, I had a phone cal to make. “I need to know if someone’s a client of yours,” I began.

“My dearest boy,” Mrs. Cherry gushed. “No, ‘How are you, oh Queen of al that is Dark, Dirty, and Mysterious?’ No, ‘Oh, how I pine for the luscious scent of your satin panties?’ No, ‘You drive even a one hundred percent gay boy like me to dream of the infinite pleasure I’d find munching the fresh grass that blooms between your spread and generous thighs?’ Where are your manners, Kevin? You wound me.”

“Sorry,” I said. “This is serious. I need to know if someone’s a client of yours.”

“Darling, hundreds of men hire dates through me.

It’s what keeps Mama off the streets and up to her elbows in pearls.”

“I need to know about one client in particular.”

“Wel , I’m sorry, my dear, but you know Mother holds her secrets in the strictest of confidence. Even you don’t know the names of some of your longest-term clients—wel , not their real names, anyway. Only I know that, and Mrs. Cherry’s lips are sealed.”

“I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important.” I told Mrs.

Cherry about the string of coincidences that resulted in the deaths of Sammy White Tee, Brooklyn Roy, and Rueben, as wel as the possible attempt on Randy’s life. “I think they may have had a client in common, someone important.”

“You have someone in mind?” Mrs. Cherry asked.

I think it was the most direct sentence I’d ever heard her utter.

“Yeah,” I said. “Jacob Locke.”

Mrs. Cherry laughed heartily. “That horrible man from the television? The one who thinks he’s going to run a presidential campaign on a platform of Get the Gays? Oh, darling, Mrs. Cherry may insist my boys wear condoms, but that doesn’t mean I do business with scumbags.”

“So, you’re sure he’s never been a client of yours?”

Mrs. Cherry paused. “Wel . . .” she began.

“‘Wel ’?”

“The answer is no. But to be perfectly honest, someone of his stature, wel , they don’t rent boys under their own names. They usual y have an assistant or associate take care of that for them.

There’s no paper trail that way. More than once I’ve arranged for a date with someone who sounded perfectly average only to have my boy report back to me that he just fucked a CNN newscaster or a sitcom star.

“So, if I had to be honest, which I never, never am, darling, but I’l make an exception in this case, I’d have to say that just because I don’t remember having ever done business with Mr. Jacob Locke doesn’t mean he’s never availed himself of my services. It’s unlikely, but not impossible.” Just on a whim, I thought I’d run another name past her.

“Ansel Darling?” she answered. “Wel , let’s just say if I awarded frequent flyer miles, Mr. Darling would be traveling first class for the rest of his life. I don’t know how much money he could possibly make with those awful rags he peddles at cutrate department stores, but he certainly spends enough to maintain me in designer muumuus and caftans.

You know Mama’s a plus-sized girl with a heart of gold, darling.”

“OK,” I said, feeling more confused than when I’d started. I’d better take another Adderal before my date with Tony tonight. “Thanks for being honest with me.”

“Anything for you, dearest. But tel me, are you real y worried? Because if I thought for one instant that my boys were in any danger, I’d pul you al off the job tomorrow.”

“No,” I said. “Maybe I’m paranoid. It could be nothing. I’m not sure.”

“Wel , keep me informed. Now, kiss Auntie Cherry good night.”

I blew her a kiss into the phone and hopped into the shower.

Tony arrived at my place right on time, looking every inch the straight boy in his pressed chinos, white col ared shirt, and navy V-neck sweater. Oh yeah, there were loafers, too.

Stil , a more delicious straight boy you never saw.

I was wearing black, straight-leg AX jeans and an oversized baby blue merino wool sweater that matched my eyes and made me look more boyish than usual. The sleeves came to my knuckles and the waist just above my ass. The sweater’s deep scoop cal ed attention to the soft skin on my shoulders and upper chest.

I wasn’t entirely sure how tonight would go, and I figured reminding Tony of some of the things he liked about me wasn’t entirely a bad idea.

Tony looked as nervous as a teenager on a first date. Usual y, he ravished me with hungry kisses as soon as I opened the door; tonight, he looked down at his dumb loafers and shuffled his feet. “You ready to go?”

I grabbed my denim jacket, keys, and wal et. I put my arm through his. “You’re not headed to your execution, you know.”

“What?”

“You look kind of glum.”

“Oh.” Tony gave me a quick peck on the cheek as we walked to the elevator. “You know me. I’m just not that social a guy. I get uncomfortable meeting new people. That’s al .”

New gay people,
I thought. “You’l like them,” I assured him. “And they’l like you. It’s just dinner. We never ask you to sign the recruitment papers at the first meal.”

Tony stopped walking and looked at me.

“Kidding,” I told him.

“I know that,” he said, with one of those fake laughs where the person actual y enunciates “ha-ha.”

“It’s just dinner,” I repeated. “No agenda. I promise.”

But of course, I was lying. Agenda was actual y the main course at this meal, as I was hoping to strike off the list at least one of the things Tony thought he was going to have to give up to be with me.

We drove Tony’s car across town and arrived at a beautiful townhouse in the West Vil age. “Nice digs,” Tony said, as we nabbed an il egal parking space in front of their house. Tony put his shield on the dashboard to prevent a ticket.

“They’re nice people,” I told him. I got out of the car and waited for Tony to join me on the street. It seemed like he took an extra few minutes to extract himself from his seat belt.

He real y was nervous.

“Would you come on?” I urged him. “If you don’t hurry up, we’re going to miss our turn in the sling before the appetizers are served.”

Tony froze again.

“I’m stil kidding.”

“I know that,” Tony said. “You know, it’s not like this is my first dinner with gay people. Sheesh.” He ran his hands through my hair. “I’m not a rube. I know the sling doesn’t usual y come out til dessert.”
Did he just make a joke?
“Wow,” I said. “I’m real y proud of you.”

“And I am real y sorry I’m being such a dick about al this. You’re right; I should meet your friends.

Maybe it’s not going to be so bad to be at a dinner with you where I don’t have to be afraid to do this.” Tony took me in his arms and planted a kiss on me so scorching that I worried for a moment if hair gel was flammable.

“I think I forgot to do that when I first saw you tonight,” he said. “Forgive me?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “You think one kiss is gonna do it?”

On the second one, I think I actual y felt my lips start to blister.

“OK,” I said, pushing away, “you’re forgiven. But you kiss me like that in there, and this real y wil turn into a gay orgy.”

Tony took my hand in his. “Let’s go meet your friends.”

Nick opened the door on our first ring. In his dark denims and white button-down shirt, he looked like he could be Tony’s brother. He kissed me hel o.

“And this must be Tony,” he said, giving Tony a natural y butch handshake that immediately put my semi-boyfriend at ease. “You know, we’re pretty crazy about Kevin in this household. You treating him right?”

Tony put an arm around me. “I try to watch out for him.”

“Wel , then, welcome. Can I get you a beer?”

“What have you got?”

“I’m not too fancy about that stuff, I’m afraid. I’m a Bud man. That OK?”

“That’s perfect,” Tony said, and I could hear the relief in his voice. I think he expected a pink daiquiri or something.

We walked though the hal way into the living room.

Paul was coming toward us with a red cocktail in each hand. As always, his long floppy hair fel over his forehead and he shook it out of his eyes.

Obviously the chef tonight, Paul was barefoot, in faded denims, a black, long-sleeved tee, and an apron that read, “I cook, you clean. Deal?”

“Here,” he said, handing me a Cosmo. “Unless you’re drinking diesel oil like the real boys tonight.” I kissed him on the cheek. “This is great, thanks.

And this,” I said, feeling very proud of my handsome and so far social y acceptable semi-boyfriend, “is Tony.”

Paul wiped his hand on his apron before shaking Tony’s. I watched Tony’s face, and apparently Paul’s grip was strong enough to earn a smile from him.

“Real y nice to meet you,” Paul said. “Kevin’s been single for too long.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “did I leave the room?”

“Nice meeting you, too,” Tony said. “This place is great. Thanks for inviting us.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Nick said. “You haven’t eaten his cooking.”

Paul smacked Nick on the head.

Tony smiled again.

See,
I thought at him,
they’re just like real people.

You can do this.

“I’m sure it’l be great,” Tony said.

Nick rol ed his eyes. “You must like to live dangerously.”

“I’m a cop,” Tony said. “I’m used to walking on the wild side.”

Wow. For Tony to share that so soon meant he real y was feeling comfortable.

“You are?” Nick asked. “No shit. I used to be on the job, too.”

“No shit?” Tony said.

“No shit,” Nick answered.

Paul looked at me, his expression saying,
See
how well the boys are playing together?
I smiled back.

“So what are you doing now?”

“I’m a PI,” Nick said.

I didn’t even know that. These two real y were getting along like two houses on fire.

Maybe I should be worried.

“Hey, come in the kitchen with me and grab that beer. We can trade war stories.”

“Al right,” Tony said, “and maybe after the second beer, I’l tel you about the time I saved Kevin’s ass.” Nick and Paul looked at me.

“It was nothing,” I said. “A friendly little murder scheme I happened to stumble onto. It could happen to anyone.”

“Why,” Nick asked, “do I doubt that?”

“Wow, I guess you real y do know him, huh?” Tony teased.

When your friends pick on you the first time they meet, it’s always a good sign.

It looked like my plan was going to work.

“Hey,” Tony said, stepping on something. He picked it up. “Oh, sorry, man, it looks like I crushed your . . . Superman action figure? Aren’t you two a little old for this kind of thing?”

“Oh, that’s Aaron’s,” Paul said.

“Aaron’s?” Tony frowned for a moment, and I think he was wondering if this nice couple he was starting to like was real y living in some freaky three-way arrangement. If so, his question was answered by the sound of little feet running down the hal .

“Kebbin!” Four-year-old Aaron threw himself into my arms. “You came!”

“You are supposed to be in bed young man,” Paul said.

“Aw, but . . .” Aaron whined.

“Hey,” I said. “How about I tuck the little tiger in?

Would you like that, Aaron?”

“Yeah!”

“OK,” I said, “but first you have to say hel o to my friend, Tony.”

Tony tickled Aaron’s bel y. “Hey, little man. You’re lucky. ‘Kebbin’s’ the best tucker-inner in the tri-state area.”

“Are you his husband?” Aaron asked.

Tony blanched. “Ah, no, we’re just friends.” I gave Tony a death glare.

“Special friends,” he amended.

“Come on,” Aaron said, losing interest in Tony as soon as he figured out where he fit in. “You can tel me a story.”

As I carried Aaron to his room, I heard Tony asking, “So, is that your nephew or something?” Nick laughed. “Didn’t Kevin tel you? Aaron’s our son. He didn’t mention we were dads?”

“Ah, no, he didn’t,” Tony said. You could feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees.

“That’s funny,” Nick said cluelessly. “I wonder why he didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, his voice tight. “Wonder why?” Paul, being the more sensitive of the two, knew Nick was jumping on thin ice. He tried to lighten the mood. “Surprise!” he said, throwing up jazz hands.

Oh no,
I thought,
not the jazz hands.

“Yeah,” said Tony, “big surprise.”

25

Being at War with Each Other

“What I don’t understand,” Tony snapped at me as we walked into my apartment, “is what were you
thinking?
”

“I was thinking they were a nice couple and we’d have a good time,” I answered innocently.

We’d driven back from dinner in a tense silence.

“Did

you

real y

imagine,”

Tony

asked

incredulously, “that I wouldn’t see what you were up to? I mean, of al your friends, you invite me to dinner with the poster family for gay daddies? Was that even their kid, or did they rent him for the evening to prove how ‘normal’ they were?”