Venetian Masks (9 page)

The most amazing part of the ride, though, was when they entered the Grand Canal. It looked a lot bigger from the water than from land, and he had a better opportunity to admire the grandeur of the spectacular palaces, although he was a little breathless from the amount of boat traffic, like a watery Interstate 5. He laughed out loud when he realized one of the boats they were passing was a UPS delivery boat.

And the entire time, Cleve was next to him—against him—his solid body very warm. He was talking and laughing and joking, exchanging comments in English and Italian with their gondolier, making sure Jeff didn’t miss anything of interest.

Somewhere near Piazza San Marco, Jeff realized he was having
fun
. When was the last time he’d felt like this? The best he could come up with was a family trip to Magic Mountain when he was twelve—when he’d overeaten junk food and nearly puked on one of the roller coasters, and his brothers had called him a pussy and made him ride again and again, and he’d been so exhausted that he fell asleep in the back of the minivan on the way home.

T
HE
gondola ride set him back a hundred euros, but it was worth every cent. He even tipped the gondolier an extra ten.

“You wouldn’t have done that on your own,” Cleve pointed out when they were on dry land again.

“No, probably not.”

“And even if you did, you wouldn’t have gotten someone as good as Paolo, and the ride would’ve lasted maybe forty minutes.”

Jeff glanced at his watch and was shocked to see that they’d spent nearly three hours in the boat. “Okay. You’ve made your point.”

“I’m not done with you yet, dude.”

They had some delicious gelato—“Best in town,” Cleve affirmed—and then walked awhile. Cleve brought him into a church, and Jeff was almost ready to complain until he got farther inside. “Holy crap,” he breathed.

Cleve made a sound suspiciously like a giggle. “Exactly. This is St. Mark’s Basilica, and no way should you miss seeing this.”

Jeff had to agree. The multidomed ceiling was covered in elaborate gold-tiled mosaics, the floors were equally ornate, and there were statues and other ornaments everywhere. Jeff wasn’t Catholic—in fact, his parents were pretty much hard-core secular—so he didn’t know the meaning of most of what he was looking at. But he could let the beauty and wonder of it wash over him.

After Jeff stood for some time with his mouth hanging open, Cleve led him to something he called Pala d’Oro. Jeff didn’t know what it was meant for—maybe just decoration. It had enameled pictures on it and was encrusted with more jewels than he’d ever seen in his life. “Looted from Constantinople,” Cleve informed him and then rolled his eyes when Jeff couldn’t help but hum the song by They Might Be Giants.

Jeff was hungry by the time they left the basilica. “I’m gonna take us somewhere good,” Cleve said.

“Um… I can’t really afford last night’s bill every night.”

“No problem,” Cleve said, flashing him a smile.

They ended up at a sandwich shop, which certainly was a lot cheaper. The sandwiches were really tasty, though, made on thick bread and pressed in a grill-type thing. Panini, Jeff supposed. They had more gelato for dessert.

“Now we have more aquatic adventures,” said Cleve.

“Another gondola ride?”

“Nope.”

Instead, they boarded a
vaporetto
. The boat was so packed that they had to stand at first, but as they traveled away from the city center, the vessel began to empty out. When they reached Lido—the end of the line—Cleve led Jeff to the open-air seats at the back of the boat, and they sat there alone as the boat chugged back the way it came. The sun was setting, and the lights of the city and the lights on the boats sparkled like fireflies.

Even though there were no tourists to shock, Cleve sat with his shoulder against Jeff’s, with Jeff bearing a good part of his weight. Kyle had never been into PDAs, and even in private, he wasn’t a cuddler. This closeness felt good.

An hour after they’d left, the
vaporetto
returned to the point where they’d boarded, but Cleve didn’t make any attempt to get up. “Wanna do another round?” he asked with a grin.

“Sure? Why not?”

They were silent until the boat was in the stretch of open water on the way to Lido, and then Cleve sighed. “I love these things.” His voice was unusually soft.

“Beats regular buses, that’s for sure.”

“Sometimes I sit on one all day, not thinking or anything. Just… being. Sometimes I wish I could stay on forever, sort of cozy and safe.”

“Safe from what?” Jeff asked, but Cleve didn’t answer.

Jeff was yawning by the time they disembarked. Cleve cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “Guess you’re not raring for some wild nightlife, huh?”

“Sorry. I’m not a wild nightlife kind of guy.”

“Nope,” Cleve responded amiably. “You’re Just Jeff.”

Somehow Cleve ended up walking Jeff across the city until they were back in the
campo
where they’d met. At this time of night the square was empty and dark, the shops and the little café shuttered. Jeff could hear the sound of the water lapping against the canal banks. He wondered where Cleve lived, but didn’t ask.

“So,” Cleve said, “did I earn my hundred euros for today?”

“Definitely.” Jeff took out his wallet and peeled off a couple of bills, which Cleve took from him without embarrassment. Jeff didn’t believe in carrying too much cash, and he was going to have to find an ATM soon.

“And did I pass the test? Are you gonna want me for four more days?”

Jeff was going to want him a hell of a lot longer than that, but he only nodded. “Yeah. Today really was fantastic, Cleve.”

In the dim light, Cleve’s white teeth gleamed. “Excellent. And you can consider this a bonus, free of charge.” And before Jeff could wonder what he meant, Cleve put his hands behind Jeff’s head and tugged him down for a kiss. It certainly wasn’t the peck on the cheek Kyle and Jeff used to exchange before heading to work, nor even the perfunctory smooches they’d exchanged as a sort of foreplay. This was warm, hard and soft at once, tasting slightly of coffee and wine as Cleve’s tongue ventured into Jeff’s mouth. His cheeks were scratchy against Jeff’s smoother ones, and Jeff finally gave in to temptation and reached up to touch Cleve’s hair. It was soft and sleek and thick enough to bury his fingers in.

They pulled apart eventually—Jeff wasn’t sure by whose decision—and he was a little breathless and very, very hard.

“Eleven tomorrow, usual place,” Cleve said and then turned and walked away.

Chapter 6

“Y
OU
look as if you had a good day, Signore Dawkins.”

If Jeff’s face hadn’t already been flushed from the kiss, he would have blushed. He was glad he’d thought to hold his jacket in front of himself. “I did. I rode a gondola. And a
vaporetto
.”

Mita dimpled. “This is the best way to see Venezia—from the water, yes?”

“I think so. And we don’t have gondolas back home.”

“Even if you did, it would not be the same,” she said with a dismissive flap of her hand. “And your crush? Is it love yet?”

“It’s… maybe we’re going steady.”

“Then love is around the corner.”

He shifted his jacket uncomfortably in his sweaty hands. “Are you from here, Mita?”

“Born right here in Cannaregio,” she said proudly.

“Then how do you know Venice is so great? If you don’t have anything to compare it to, I mean.”

“Oh, I have seen other cities. I have traveled to nearly every country in Europe, to Japan and South Korea and Hong Kong, to Morocco and Egypt and Tunisia. I have even been to your New York and Los Angeles, and I spent one university term in Kansas.”

Jeff had probably a half dozen years on this girl and he hadn’t been anywhere. “Didn’t you like those places?” he asked.

“Of course! I like them very much. But that is the joy of travel—I like those places, and when I come back home, I love it even more.”

He smiled at her. “Good night, Mita.”

“Buona notte.”

When he got back to his room, Jeff hung up his jacket and leaned back against the door. He could still taste Cleve on his lips and he was still achingly erect. Cursing under his breath, he fumbled open his jeans and, there in the entryway, stroked himself viciously until he came. It took very little time, even though it was the second time that day. His release left him feeling tired and unfulfilled, but at least he didn’t feel guilty.

Hi Jeffy,

Hope you’re having a fabulous time! Did you find me those earrings yet? ;-)

Got a call a few minutes ago from someone who saw your house yesterday. She adored the place but her husband’s out of town. I’ve scheduled a showing with both of them when he gets back. They’re prequalified for financing. I have a good feeling about this, Jeffy!

*Enjoy* yourself, darling. Dad sends his love!

L,

Mom

M
ORNING
sun slanted through the window. Jeff chewed his lip as he wrote a quick reply and sent it off. He really loved his home but just couldn’t afford it by himself. Besides, it was too full of memories. He’d be much better off if the place sold quickly and he moved into an apartment somewhere. Hell, maybe he could even find one with a decent workout room and cancel his membership at the gym. He’d save even more that way. And a pool—that’d be nice. He remembered the previous day’s discussion about Marco Polo and almost smiled. Almost. Because the idea of giving up his home was hard to bear.

His dreams had been only moderately horrible, and now, showered and dressed, he felt moderately refreshed. It was still far too early to meet Cleve—and he needed to temper his wild buzz of anticipation—so he decided to hunt down some breakfast.

He had no particular destination in mind, but his feet took him over the Rialto, where the tourist crowds were still thin, and to the market. The stalls sold fruit and veggies, and nearby were stands that sold cheap snack food. He decided the busy bakery might be a good choice and ended up buying a small round loaf of bread with almond slivers and large granules of sugar on top. He bought some strawberries and blood oranges from a smiling vendor who wore a scarf over her hair. He wished he knew how to cook properly so he’d have an excuse to buy more of the enticing produce.

A short distance away was a place that sold coffee and had a few little tables scattered in front. He saw that other people were sitting there, sipping their drinks and munching on food from the stalls, and he decided to do the same. It ended up being a good choice: the espresso was perfect, the strawberries were juicy and flavorful, and the sweet bread was goddamn delicious. With the pigeons pecking near his feet, some kids laughing and kicking a soccer ball in the
campo
, and the boats passing by on the canal, it was an altogether satisfying meal—which could have been improved only by the right company. He wondered where Cleve would take him to breakfast if he were given the chance.

Jeff wandered for a while, and then returned to his apartment and dropped off the leftover food. He reminded himself to do a load of laundry that evening. He was down to two clean sets of clothes, and he wasn’t sure how long it would take for stuff to dry in the slightly damp air. He tried to read, realized he was too keyed up to concentrate, and ended up playing solitaire on his laptop instead.

“A
REN
’
T
you the prompt one, Just Jeff?” teased Cleve after checking his watch.

Jeff pointed at the other man’s empty espresso cup. “You were early.”

“Yeah, but I’m the hired help. Besides, this way you can pay.”

Jeff did pay for the coffee, cheerfully even, and then followed Cleve across the
campo
. “Gonna tell me what’s on tap for today, or is it top secret?”

Cleve glanced over at him, one side of his mouth quirked. “I’ll give you a hint. It involves a journey over water with a dark, handsome not-so-stranger.”

“You’re pretty strange, Cleve.”

“Thank you, Just Jeff.”

Cleve was wearing a silky green T-shirt that brought out the green flecks in his eyes, a pair of distractingly tight black jeans, and a leather motorcycle jacket. Jeff liked the jacket, even if it covered the tattoos.

They boarded a
vaporetto
at Fondamente Nove, the same stop where Jeff first alighted on his arrival in Venice. It had been only a few days ago, yet he already felt more comfortable here than he’d imagined possible. The boat zipped across the slightly choppy water—the weather a little overcast and windy—and a few stops later, they got off again.

“Murano?” Jeff asked. “Cool. I need earrings for my mom. But I could’ve bought those without crossing the lagoon.”