| Part Three: Episode Twenty-One
It was a glib, slightly amplified female voice that insinuated itself in the fog of
Zeke's mental landscape, nudging him from his slouch: "Good afternoon. This is your
pre-boarding announcement for Northwest Flight 1806 non-stop to Los Angeles. At this
time we ask that all First Class passengers, passengers travelling with small children or
needing assistance, please come forward for boarding..."
There was a magazine sitting unread on Zeke's lap, every page of it still
crisp and glossy. He checked his watch and tried to fathom that two and a half hours
had just vanished into the ether. Presumably he had been thinking really hard and
should have come to some truly profound realizations but all he had to show for it
was a whole lot of nothing.
Rewinding the tape on the afternoon, he skimmed over what was more or
less a sullen funk and came upon the dissonant memory of leaving Casey. The
soundtrack was deceptively low-key at that point, albeit with all sorts of gnashing
sounds churning beneath the surface a scene two people saying good-bye while on
both sides of them people streamed back and forth to wherever and whatever, seeming
to ignore them but perhaps taking a quick, wondering glance if opportunity afforded it.
Thinking to themselves It's a couple of kids having a dramatic moment...a couple
of...boys...hey, wait a minute, that boy is touching that other boy...
It was right then in front of the Krispy Kreme that Zeke's larynx had betrayed
him, dislodging the words I'll never hate you, noises of sympathy made entirely
without the authorization of his brain. His whole body had turned treasonous. After all
these months, he should have been resistant to the unique alchemy of Casey's
expressive facial features but there had been such an elixir of hopelessness,
devastation and shame in that visage that it had been all Zeke could do to turn and
make his legs bear him away. And he was the injured party, for fuck's sake.
Of course, once he had gotten out of Casey's direct line of sight his body
was content follow normal operating procedures again. He had bought that magazine
along with a fresh pack of smokes thinking he would need something to pass the
time with then walked to Gate Forty-Seven where he'd chosen one of the plush,
comfortable seats. He had planted himself in it, glorying in that moment when finally he
was entirely alone, or at least as alone as anyone could get in an airport filled with
thousands of people. Still it was Zeke Tyler at large in the world, just like the good old
days. No Frank Connor, no Allison Connor, none of their particular hang-ups and
endless, superficial nattering...but really, the Connor parental factor was only a minor
irritant compared to the constant splinter-under-the-nails discomfort of being trapped in
Casey's company all day, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists as Casey ran the
gamut of his avoidance games. Until today he hadn't known that it was possible to pity
someone and be furious at them simultaneously.
"No-o-o! Don' wanna!"
This protest came from the throat of a small child, maybe four years old to
Zeke's inexperienced eyes. She was blond and blue-eyed and cute enough that she
had already learned just how to use it to her advantage. She was stamping her foot
and fomenting against a woman who remained seated, attempting to engage her at eye
level her mother, presumably. The woman was enduring the display with strained
aplomb while the glare of the girl was hot and absolute, as though her insistence must
be sufficiently compelling in and of itself to force compliance.
"I realize that you don't want to," replied the mother in tones measured by
weary patience. "But we can't visit Auntie Laura unless we go on the plane."
"Wanna stay with Daddy."
"Sorry, sweetie, but you can't." Now the mother rose to her feet, abandoning
negotiation in favour of an exercise of authority. She held out her hand. "Come on "
"No!"
"Samantha Ann!" The facade of patience having failed, the mother grabbed
the girl's hand. The scene became a war of attrition; the mother had to drag her
screeching offspring to the gate, containing the child inadequately with one hand and
presenting her boarding pass and identification with the other, all the while casting
abashed looks at her soon-to-be fellow passengers.
And Zeke mused to himself,Now there's true love.
Not that he knew anything about the "L" word. Ignoramus that he was, he'd
deluded himself right up until yesterday afternoon that Casey felt something for him,
that there was something real amidst the obsession and the lies and the endless
drama. A tiny, obstinate part of him had insisted over and over that it was there and so,
over and over, he would dedicate his best resources to dredging up those scraps of
evidence. But he no longer had the will for that nor the inclination, really. Love had
never been one of his priorities, and certainly not this stupid, cue-the-music-and-ride-
off-into-the sunset thing that had held sway over him for months. He'd envisioned
himself as Casey's protector, his soul-mate and, of course, the only person Casey
could ever need. What a fucking joke.
"No-o-o-o!" screamed Samantha Ann, her voice rising in pitch and volume to
an astonishing level.
Yep, gotta be true love, Zeke concluded. And I'm going to be
trapped on an airplane for two hours with it. He had nothing against children but
after an almost sleepless night and hours of stress already today he was in need of
more peaceful conditions. He had earned a time-out.
So much of the stress had been basic, ordinary anger but a lot of it was
shock, too. And his head wouldn't shut the fuck up. It kept muttering about this and
that, distracting and occasionally throwing him completely off, abhorring Casey's more
annoying qualities one second and rattling away in admiration the next. Of course it
went without saying that Casey always had the capacity to surprise him. Just in the
past twenty-four hours he'd been totally astounded. Casey had never looked anything
but entirely shattered but there had been no zone-outs, no panic attacks. Well, the
drugs probably made a difference but still, Zeke should have known, he should have
remembered the strength that Casey could muster when he wanted to.
Yeah, Zeke was impressed by Casey and that was to be expected, he could
never entirely despise someone who clawed his way up from absolute bottom the way
that Casey had but he was far more impressed by himself. Never had he come so
close to deliberately striking Casey as he had yesterday. He had not only controlled it,
though, he had demonstrated that he was really quite a tolerant, forbearing guy. He'd
been pretty fucking forbearing today too, sitting quietly next to Casey in that car for
three hours and even being civil to him. It did help that Casey had been asleep most of
the way, clinging to unconsciousness as obstinately as the little girl was now attempting
to cling to the airline kiosk. That had been a great advantage to Zeke, who had needed
those hours to somehow retrain his eyes, to teach them that the Casey they beheld had
never existed. That image translated by his optical nerves did not depict something
sublime and fragile and perfect or any of a hundred other adjectives Zeke had
applied to it. It was a thing of deceit and dysfunction. It was, in and of itself, a lie.
You knew what you were doing when you did it, he had berated
silently, staring at Casey's face as the miles flashed past beyond the window frame.
You did it on purpose to hurt me, not any other reason. You knew what would get to
me and you fucking got to me. Well, actions have consequences, I'm not going to
excuse you this time. Zeke Tyler may forgive but he won't forget.
Zeke was not without compassion. He knew that Casey felt a compulsion to
do certain things, act in certain ways but it didn't mean that he wasn't accountable
for himself. Zeke had seen him govern himself quite effectively when he wanted to.
Such as all through Christmas holidays, putting on a show about improvement and
reflection and change. It may have been bullshit but it did require a fair bit of self-
possession. Anyway, it was obvious that this thing with Thomas wasn't about
attraction; it was about Casey needing to prove that he deserved the things that Roy
had done to him. It was Casey seeking proof of Zeke's love too, at least as far as he
could comprehend the concept. Or proof that he was the slut that he named himself,
that he was all those words that Zeke had heard him use from time to time...filthy,
useless, unworthy. He was literally begging Zeke to pass judgment on him. Daring
Zeke to prove him right so if Zeke was a nice guy he would not judge. He would just
accept and they would move on.
Yeah, Zeke was all limbered up and ready to dance the acceptance dance.
He could feel that craven, codependent part of himself urging forgiveness but he just
couldn't settle the part of him that was selfish and hurt and demanding a real
explanation. Fuck the theory of it all. As far as his heart was concerned, everything
that he had done for Casey, all the time he'd put in, and the work, and the fucking
sacrifice all of that should have made a difference. He'd never given so much to
another person and he'd never wanted to. He should have made a difference.
And he was not going to accept when he still didn't understand. He still
didn't know what had happened in that room in the Herrington Best Western last
August, not really. Casey had proven quite conclusively that he could shovel
convincing bullshit even under the most stressful conditions, so his stammered
agreement to the scenario that Zeke had constructed proved absolutely nothing.
Indeed, Zeke had fucked up twice over because not only was the confession
incomplete, it had been extracted under duress. Clearly there had been an event and
that event had damaged Casey but that was all Zeke really knew. He had complete
faith in Roy being a selfish shit but otherwise he had only the testimony of Sasha and
the letter Roy had sent that had implied Janice's presence and mentioned things
getting a little crazy.
Really, there was nothing whatsoever to suggest that Roy had ever done a
thing to Casey that was any worse than what others had done. So Roy had hurt Casey
physically? Ah, but Zeke had bruised Casey more than once himself, always with his
complete assent, sometimes with his encouragement. Okay, then Roy had neglected
Casey but so had Casey's parents. They had not been condemned for it. They
were still around, still active in Casey's life.
If nothing else, Roy had controlled Casey, kept him in a position where being
submissive was the only power he had. Roy had disregarded his rights as a person
no question, right? Except that was true of everyone who knew Casey. They all
ordered him around, monitored where he went, what he did, what he ate, how much he
slept. Seeing as everyone in Casey's life was a Roy, how could Zeke hold Roy
accountable for a damn thing? He would have to blame everyone equally, including
himself. They were, all of them, Roy.
In the much less convoluted space that was external to Zeke's tirade, the
screaming Samantha Ann had been detached from her anchor. Zeke traded a glance
with an elderly lady sitting in a seat almost directly across from him. She raised her
brows wistfully, as if to say Here we go.
Zeke dislodged himself from the seat that he'd inhabited for almost three
hours now and walked as far away as he could, hitching his backpack over one
shoulder. He had a strong premonition that if he got on that plane he would lose his
mind; the flight, not to mention everything that was to follow it, was becoming less and
less endurable. He absolutely didn't want to be in Seattle now but at the same time he
didn't know if he could stand beside Jacob and shake hands, laugh at dumb jokes and
reminiscences, eat cake and smile indulgently at whatever godawful music was being
played. He would much rather...well, nothing. There was nothing he'd rather do.
Except hunt down Roy and hurt him until he confessed that he was a
genuinely cruel, heartless bastard who had victimized Casey in ways that Zeke could
only begin to empathize with, ways that would make it totally understandable that
Casey did the fucked-up things that he did. That would be so much more relevant.
"This is your boarding call on Northwest Flight 1806 non-stop to Los
Angeles. All passengers in Rows Thirty through Twenty-One, please come forward..."
Zeke glanced at his boarding pass and confirmed that he was in Row Eight.
He had a few minutes to kill, so he could indulge a mad idea in the meantime.
To find and confront Roy. Oh, but it would be a truly audacious move on
Zeke's part. He really liked that about it although it was still less nervy than
travelling twice a week to a hotel in Herrington to exploit a much younger, much more
vulnerable person, to use them until they were broken. There had to be a sense of
entitlement in this man that bordered on sociopathic. It could not be a case of simple
misunderstanding or a series of mistakes that culminated in one big mistake. If it was
all just a mistake, there would be very little difference between Roy and a person who
physically trapped and remorselessly interrogated Casey until he vomited up the worst
truth in his possession.
Zeke couldn't deny it: He had pushed Casey far past the point of necessity
or kindness or real understanding, forcing Casey to an act of self-destruction. That
might just have been Roy-like behaviour...but suppose that Zeke could prove once and
for all that he was not Roy
Fuck it. It was absurd. It was improbable.
It was the only way to be sure that he knew what he knew. To find that there
was something he could understand, that he would never just make up a
pleasing fiction so he could forgive. Forcing the issue with Casey had gained him
nothing except an appreciation that, when it came to lying, Casey had few peers. Even
if by some miracle Casey had attempted honesty yesterday, it didn't mean that Zeke
had gotten the truth. Information derived from torture was known to be unreliable, plus
Casey's memory of the event in question was very likely compromised. He had been
starving and dehydrated, barely coherent. Of the three witnesses to that day, he was
probably the least credible.
"This is your boarding call for Northwest Flight 1806 non-stop to Los
Angeles. All passengers in Rows Twenty through Nine, please come forward for
boarding. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready."
Standing next to a smooth, grey metal pillar, Zeke watched the line of
passengers forming and re-forming. If he was going to Los Angeles, he should really
get up and join them...except his body was doing that betrayal thing again. His feet
were in a state of outright rebellion.
So what do you want? he demanded of himself. He was not a person
who believed much in intuition, but it did seem like the non-sentient parts of himself
were trying to tell him something. You don't like this airline? This particular plane?
Oh, I know. It's the little girl, right? Well, that's life, you know. You have to put up with
a certain amount of shit.
Fuck that, the rest of him shot back. You never used to put up with
shit. You were a bad ass alpha dog who did whatever it took to keep things in
order.
I've changed...and anyway, I think I've been sufficiently badass lately.
Oh, really? And which badass was it who said all that stuff about 'Oh, I'm
sorry, Casey.' 'Sorry I have to do this.' 'I'll forgive you, Casey.' 'I'll never hate you,
Casey.'
Zeke's cheeks warmed at his own debasement. What do you want from
me?
How about a return to our former glory? There was a time when Zeke
Tyler didn't apologize or compromise on what was best for him. He would get off his
soft, sentimental ass and take no prisoners.
I could dump Casey, I guess. Would that make you happy?
It would be the simplest way. No one would blame you.
"This is your final boarding call for Northwest Flight 1806 non-stop to Los
Angeles. All passengers in Rows Eight through One, please come forward for
boarding, and please have your boarding pass and identification ready."
Zeke was finally able to convince his feet to move, taking him to the back of
the line. It was ludicrous to be standing there like he didn't know what to do with
himself. He had a ticket and a plane waiting for him; he had a destination. Moreover,
he had familial obligation and, quite evidently, he had to figure out how to exist in such
a way that not every moment of every day was about Casey.
But I don't want to hurt him. He's been hurt enough.
Well, cry me a river...and it's kinda too late to not hurt him by the way.
Okay, if you're not going to dump him, you sap, then the least you can do is make sure
that we don't look stupid. Maybe he's made a chump of us again but this time we don't
have to let him get away with it.
And how would I do that?
Like you don't fucking know.
"Boarding pass, sir?"
Zeke blinked at the smiling female in a red sweater over a red, pin-striped
blouse. She was holding out her hand expectantly.
"Um...yeah..." he started.
Unexpectedly, his own hand withdrew itself and the boarding pass.
"Sir?"
"You know what?" he said. "I've changed my mind."
The cynical parts of him said he had just gone psychotic but he figured
the rest of him had to know what it was doing. If he was going to go back to Seattle
and forgive Casey which let's face it, sap was more or less a given he had
to know that at least he wasn't ridiculous, that people weren't snickering behind their
hands at him.
"Changed your mind?"
"I don't want to go to Los Angeles today."
"I'm not sure that we'll be able to refund your ticket, sir."
"That's okay." Zeke took a few steps sideways, so that it would be clearly
indicated that he was no longer in the line. "Will I need to go back through security to
get out?"
"Are you sure, sir? The plane will be leaving in fifteen minutes."
"Yes, I'm quite sure."
"Um...I will need to page security...and there may be a delay to get your
luggage."
"Of course," Zeke answered, and resolved to give it no more than a half
hour. If it took longer to get his bags because they were buried in the belly of the plane
or something, he would leave and come back for them in a day, or two days...however
long it took.
As it turned out, the airline's customer service was more than adequate.
Thirty minutes later, Zeke and his luggage were waiting out in the Arrivals zone in front
of the airport. There was a long row of taxi-cabs. He waved at one, whose back trunk
obligingly popped open for him. Throwing in his bags and slamming it closed, he
slipped into the back seat of the vehicle.
"Can you take me to a library?" He'd made the most of his time while waiting
for security to clear him and for the airline people to retrieve his bags. It was near the
end of the day and he had to act quickly. There wasn't enough time to find a hotel right
now, not if he was going to get anything accomplished today, so it looked like he was
going to be dragging these fricking suitcases with him everywhere for a while. "There's
a public library downtown, right?"
"Sure is...huge one," the cabbie said. She was a largish woman who looked
and sounded like she'd led a rough life.
As they descended into metropolitan Cincinnati, Zeke deduced from her
choice of radio stations that she liked classic rock. From her complete silence, he
deduced that she was not much of a talker and he was relieved; talking would have
distracted him. Holding himself in a state of tremulous calm the entire way, he was
primed to spring into action the moment he hit the sidewalk. I need to know, he
chanted to himself. Need to know, need to know... Zeke Tyler was no gullible
idiot, he wouldn't let himself be taken advantage of, and he wouldn't go to his father's
wedding until he had proven that.
But there was more. His insides absolutely quivered with satisfaction as he
anticipated himself outlining everything he had learned to Casey. I understand
you, he would say. And there's nothing you can do about it. He would tell
Casey how one of them was going to provide Dr. Yves with the true story of Casey's
last encounter with Roy. If Casey refused, then it would fall to Zeke and he would
finally be in a position to do it right. Naturally, no other person on the planet would
understand Casey as completely as he did but he could be magnanimous. He would
share his acquired knowledge with Dr. Yves, as it would make all the difference in
enabling her to do her job.
His cab left him at the main branch of the Cinncinati Public library on Vine
Street. It was a modern red-brick and glass edifice that swallowed almost an entire city
block; there was an aesthetic surprise when Zeke went inside and discovered that an
atrium formed the centre of the structure, wrapping around a much older building. He
could see all the way up to the top of five, wondrous floors of information but he could
only pause briefly to appreciate the architectural ingenuity. He had his mission.
Moving as speedily as he could, he found a place out of the way to put his
bags, near the bank of public access computers that was his objective. A sign informed
him that he would have to pay for any printing that he did. He claimed one of the two or
three open stations, opened the web browser and Googled "Donald Windle".
There was a lot more material about the man than Zeke had been expecting.
The very first hit was an article from the Cincinnati Enquirer describing the
opening of a new exhibition at the Contemporary Arts Centre, sponsored by the Windle
Family Trust. The article was dated only two months back and went on at some length
about Roy, who had appeared at the dedication in person. Zeke was surprised to
discover that Roy had recently taken over his father's business; he remembered Roy
writing to Casey about how he was planning to dedicate himself to his art but then,
learning that Roy had told another lie should not be anything startling. Casey had
studied under a master.
'I'm personally very committed to the arts,' notes Mr. Windle. 'In fact, I
was until last year, a graduate student in Fine Arts at the University of Ohio. Some of
my work is on the university website. But then my father died and I had to take on other
responsibilities.'
Windle is the President and Chair of WindleCorp. His family owns a
majority of shares in the company and Windle currently is working full-time with the
family business.
'It's a far cry from photography,' Windle says. 'But I'm certainly glad to be
able to contribute in this way to something that I love.'
Returning to his search results, Zeke found University of Ohio website and
located the student-maintained gallery that Roy had mentioned, as well as descriptions
of several courses Roy that had taught last year; he glanced at the images of Roy's
work only long enough to note that they were black and white photographic portraits,
then moved on.
There was some business relating to a legal action against WindleCorp and
some references to membership in the Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce, and finally,
there were a number of items from "around town" or social departments of various
papers and newsletters. A person who knew nothing of Roy except his name could
easily learn that the youthful Mr. and Mrs. Windle had been seen often on the
Cincinnati social scene, even before their marriage in May. After only four months
together, however, they had divorced. Then, more recently, Donald Windle had been
seen about town with various young men. There was one photo of Roy and another
person but it was of such poor quality that Zeke could barely make out Roy's features.
The caption hinted slyly at the nature of Roy's relationship. A few hits down the page,
Zeke came across an article from only three weeks ago discussing Roy's profile as a
"prominent gay businessman."
Conscious that the remainder of the afternoon was dwindling, Zeke looked
up the website of WindleCorp. As he had suspected, their head office was in
downtown Cincinnati. He clicked on the page for WindleCorp's Board of Directors and
was not disappointed. Each board member was listed along with his or her picture.
Roy was at the top of the page, smiling in his very proper but stylish business attire.
"There you are, shithead," Zeke whispered to himself.
He had been told more than once that Roy was handsome, and the
photograph did nothing to contradict it. Longish, wavy brown hair surrounded an
almost-pretty face with a straight nose and full lips. The eyes were also brown, and
their warmth was notable even in a digital photograph on a less than top-quality
monitor. The smile couldn't be said to be anything less than exceptionally attractive.
Zeke printed that page, as well as the page with WindleCorp's address.
There was no direct phone number listed for Roy's personal office, but there was a
general number for "inquiries". He paid for his printing in a hurry, cramming the sheets
in his backpack, and then retrieved the two pieces of luggage that he was truly
beginning to hate. It felt like he had been hauling them with him everywhere for weeks
now.
The next step was to find a hotel. Emerging onto the slushy, dirty street, he
signalled another cab and climbed in. "Where are you going?" asked the cabbie, this
time a man who must have hailed from some east Indian country.
"A hotel..." Zeke shrugged. His sense of how little time he had left had him
almost frantic now. "Someplace good."
"Someplace good..." muttered the man. "Can you be more specific? How
much do you want to spend?"
"Doesn't matter," Zeke grunted, fighting the urge to scream with impatience.
"Just take me somewhere."
"How about the Hyatt?"
"That's fine."
While the cabbie drove, Zeke pulled out the phone number to Windle
Enterprises. He checked the time and found that it was a few minutes before four.
"Fuck me!" he muttered.
"Excuse me, sir, but I don't really care for your language," complained the
cabbie.
"Sorry."
Shit. Shitshitshit. Fuck. Maybe he should have tried to somehow reach Roy
at home but there were just too many variables that way. It was a given that asking
Sasha to help him was out of the question; Sasha would immediately invest all his
persuasive powers in talking Zeke out of this plan. Which left the Cincinnati
phonebook, and Zeke had decided while waiting for his luggage earlier not to bother
trying it. Even if Roy were listed, which seemed quite unlikely, Zeke could only assume
that there were a number of D. Windles and possibly more than one Donald. He only
had two days to find and conclude this business; there was no time to go down the list
and hope that he got lucky.
Well, he still might be able to catch Roy at his office. The guy was
supposedly a high-powered executive now, so chances were he didn't march out the
door at four-thirty...that was, if he was in town, and if he was at work.
Chance. Zeke didn't like that word one bit. Chance had far too much sway
over this process but if he really thought about that he would become too discouraged
to continue. He couldn't allow for despair, not when he had mere minutes to
accomplish something here... unless he decided to miss the wedding. If he did that he
would burn the very slight bridge that had been slung recently between himself and his
father. He would do it if necessary but, to his own surprise, he wasn't quite prepared to
light that particular match. Not just yet.
Shaking off the seduction of negative thought, he tried the WindleCorp
number and got the receptionist. "WindleCorp, how may I direct your call?"
"Donald Windle's office, please."
Zeke wasn't at all expecting it when the woman replied, "Just a moment and
I'll transfer you." He found himself sitting forward on the edge of his seat, oblivious
to the where he was being taken, ignorant of anything beyond the walls and ceiling and
upholstery of the cab. It couldn't possibly be this easy, it couldn't...There was no Roy
at the other end of this phone. It was just too unlikely.
"This is Angela Gomez, executive assistant to Mr. Donald Windle. I am
unable to take your call right now but if you "
Fury surged and ran rampant in every cell, every part of Zeke. Shuddering,
he hung up, and resisted the urge to do a Casey on his cell phone. He needed his
phone to stay undestroyed or he was screwed.
But he didn't know what the the fuck he was doing here. Stalking his
boyfriend's ex-boyfriend, for fuck's sake, like a person who had lost all perspective and
possibly their mind. And it was even more stupid than that the realization spreading
inside him like a sickness because he didn't even have a number he could leave for
Roy. If he left his cell number with the Seattle area code, Roy would be suspicious. He
doubted that he had the time to change his number to a local one and call Roy back.
Zeke closed his eyes and tried to just breathe through the screams of rage
pressing on his windpipe. He should have gotten on the fucking plane.
His sole task for the next few minutes was holding himself together until he
had been delivered to the hotel. It materialized soon enough, a multi-storied affair,
more new than old and quite upscale for Zeke's needs. He gave his cab driver a large
tip all the same and, striding into the lobby, let himself crumble into one of the couches
that had been positioned there, one among a succession of living room sets that
caused the place to resemble a furniture store.
After a few minutes of being morose, however, pure obstinacy came to his
rescue, prodded him to keep going with the plan even if there was little hope for results.
With not even a half an hour of useful time left, he had two options quickly find a
shop where he could buy a new phone and set up a new account, or call his cellular
provider. Otherwise, he should start approaching people at random and offering them
a thousand dollars for the use of their phone for the weekend.
With a deep sigh, he punched the number for his cellular company, not
expecting this process to take anything less than an hour. Another thought skittered
briefly through his mind had his provider not been a national enterprise, he would
have been really screwed. As it was, a certain amount of discussion was required,
interspersed with maddening periods of waiting. A few times he prayed for the ability to
transport himself across the cellular network so he could wring someone's neck.
Ultimately, it did happen, his old number was cancelled and he was assigned a new
number in the Cincinnati area. He then recorded a new outgoing message, using his
father's name.
But by now it was well past four-thirty. It was probably impossible to expect
anything he was just stubborn enough to call back WindleCorp. His mood lifted the
tiniest bit when the switchboard receptionist actually answered. It seemed that
WindleCorp was open until five rather than four-thirty. He again asked for Donald
Windle, and this time when he got the assistant's voicemail, he left a message.
"Hello, my name is...Jacob Tyler. I'm a student in journalism at the
University of Cincinnati and I was hoping to get in touch with Mr. Windle. I saw some of
his work on the University of Ohio student gallery and I've read his bio on-line. I'd
really like to interview him for a piece I'm writing. It's for an assignment but it could also
get published in the university magazine. I'm very interested in artists who make
careers in something more practical and Mr. Windle would be an ideal person to
interview. I realize this is an awkward time of year but I already had to get an extension
on this and it's due my first day back at school...so I thought I would try to call. If Mr.
Windle could call me back as soon as possible, that would be wonderful. My number is
555-7801, please call anytime. Thank you."
Hanging up, he reminded himself that he was fucked. There was no way
that Roy would get this message and respond to it before tomorrow, and in fact it would
be a miracle if Zeke got any kind of response at all. This whole business really
required more considered planning, not to mention some serious stalking; he had been
a dope to convince himself that it could be this easy.
Well, the only thing he knew was that it was time to crash. Towards five
o'clock he and his bags arrived on the ninth floor. As he slid the key-card into the lock,
he was thinking about nothing more ambitious than sprawling on his back. The serene,
non-descript space that presented itself to him was one of the most inviting things he
had ever seen. He left his luggage by the door and within minutes had moulded
himself into a comfortable groove on the bed, with the TV on low. Inevitably, it
was necessary to call his father; at a bare minimum he owed the man a warning that he
wasn't going to arrive tonight. Bracing himself for a hard time, Zeke called his father's
cell number, not sure where he might be at the moment home, or work or
somewhere else. Not on the highway to LAX to pick up his son, Zeke hoped.
There was an answer before the second ring. "Jacob Tyler."
"Hey...it's Zeke."
"Oh, hi...we're just about to go out to get you, are you using the phone on the
plane?"
"Uh...no...I'm not."
A pause, then Jacob said, "Your flight was delayed."
"No."
"So what's going on?"
"Well..."
There didn't seem to be any way to say it, other than to say it.
"I'm not going to be arriving tonight."
Again, a tight silence. "Why not?"
Zeke gave serious consideration to the proposition that he was acting like a
confused, brokenhearted twit. "I'm sorry, Jacob. I do intend to be there, it's just that
something come up."
"Something came up," Jacob echoed.
"It's...complicated."
"Is it to do with Casey?"
And just like that remorse gave way to resentment. "Why would you say
that?"
"Just a guess."
Zeke huffed and blustered but unfortunately he couldn't deny the truth of it.
"It kinda does have to do with him... but he has a lot of things going on that you don't
understand..."
"I think I do understand a bit. It's okay, Zeke...but I suppose he's not going
to be coming to the wedding?"
"That's right," Zeke replied curtly.
It was a statement, not a question: "Something's wrong, isn't it."
"Yes, but I don't really feel like telling you." That came out a lot more harsh
than Zeke had intended because, for some reason that was utterly beyond his ability to
comprehend, his throat had suddenly started aching.
"Are you all right?"
"Sure."
"You don't sound..."
"I said I'm fine."
"All right but why haven't you ? Where are you right now?"
"Cincinnati."
"Why, Zeke?"
"I just fucking told you "
"Okay, okay," Jacob relented. "Just...make sure you call me tomorrow."
"All right."
"Do you have any idea when you'll be arriving?"
"Some time between now and Sunday night."
Jacob sighed. "Should I be worried about whatever this is?"
Zeke debated ending the call right there. "It's nothing illegal," he forced out.
"I should go now, Jacob."
"All right, but...call me tomorrow."
"Okay." Disconnecting, Zeke laid back against the pillow and resumed
surfing channels. He found some football and had watched only two plays and one
commercial for the Rose Bowl Parade when he realized that this wasn't working for him.
Bare minutes ago he had been looking forward to a night in this very
position. Now he was ready to crawl the walls. He was on the bed and then he was up
on his feet...then down, then up, then pacing, then standing at the window looking down
at the city. There was an energy was coursing through him, insisting that he should get
up and run a marathon or build a car from the chassis up not that he had any clue of
how to do that but he could fucking well learn, anything but remain in this room tonight.
It was pretty interesting out there in the world. He should take advantage of it,
especially since for some time now he'd been privately grousing about his lack of
freedom, wishing for time to himself...just for himself.
It might be a good idea to call home before he went out. If Casey or
someone tried to call his cell right now, they would get a nasty shock.
Fuck it. He didn't want to talk to Casey who, he remembered, would not
even be home yet. It could wait. And he wanted out. Out of this room, this
building. He had not become so co-dependent that he didn't know how to enjoy himself
apart from his co-dependee.
Coat...boots...backpack. Grabbing his phone, he stole a look at the battery
meter. It was low, and once again he was entirely taken off guard by a desire to go
rampaging. The chances of receiving a call tonight were slim, he reminded himself. He
should set the battery to charge now so it would be ready for tomorrow. Or he could
just take it with him and let it die when its time came, then charge it tonight while he
slept. Yeah, that would work and he was being a total fuckwit for some reason,
freaking out over ridiculous things, missing the obvious.
The stinging, icy rain outside did not deter him from enjoying his sense of
liberation once he was out and wandering around. He did a broad tour of an area of six
or seven blocks, thrilling to the physical challenge of dodging people and other
obstacles. In the course of his explorations he spotted several restaurants that looked
interesting the only problem with them was that he didn't feel hungry, a peculiarity
since he hadn't eaten a thing since corn flakes in the Connors' kitchen this morning, a
lifetime ago.
When he began to feel soaked through, he let himself be drawn into a Tower
Records store. He spent a solid hour browsing while drying off, and realizing that he
was completely out of it as far as music was concerned. Trying not to be obvious, he
watched others in the store, young people, to all appearance his contemporaries and
yet he felt impossibly removed from them. They wandered in small groups that broke
apart in Metal and reformed in Hip-Hop; he listened to them exclaiming and carrying on
inane conversations, then sampled CD's all along a wall of listening stations. He heard
almost nothing that he liked. He left without buying a thing and once back on the
sidewalk, suddenly recalling that he still hadn't listened to the CD that Casey had made
for him. It was probably an endless chorus of forgive me's. Never
understand me, no, Casey didn't ask for understanding. It was though he
intended his inner world to remain shrouded in a mystical, inscrutable cloud.
The next stop was a Barnes & Noble and whereas Zeke had had difficulty
with the new music, he had no difficulty finding new things to read. He started off in
Fiction and browsed his way from there to Psychology, History and Philosophy. He had
five books tucked under his arm by the time he got to the magazines and there he
became enraptured. In Seattle, he'd always had his standbys that he picked up in
corner stores or wherever it was convenient in the course of his day but he'd spent little
time really exploring the bookstores there. The few excursions he'd taken with Winona
had been brief, and few. There was probably every bit as much of a variety in Seattle
as here, if not more, and he'd been missing all of it; four months in Seattle and he might
as well have been living in Herrington. Whatever happens, he vowed to himself, it's
going to be different now. He was not meant to be a small-town boy. He was meant to
be cosmopolitan, sophisticated, combing the city for food, books and music to
consume.
Setting down his pile of new books on a convenient ledge and his backpack
at his feet, he grew roots in the Current Affairs section of the magazines.
When his phone rang, he was so startled that he actually shouted out loud in
the store; a bunch of people nearby tried to subtly put more distance between
themselves and him. Meanwhile his heart seemed to be trying to do an alien-explosion
thing and tear right out of his rib cage. Taking a calming breath he was Zeke Ice
Tyler, action man he flipped open the phone.
"Hello?"
The voice was unmistakably male and to Zeke's ears it reeked of self-
assurance. "Hello, is this Jacob Tyler?"
"Yes?"
"This is Donald Windle calling."
"Oh...hi," Zeke fumbled, and called himself every synonym for idiot that he
knew.
"I hope it's not too late for you."
"No..." Zeke said, his voice hoarse from the anxiety straining behind it. He
cleared his throat. "I said to call any time." It was quiet at the other end. Clearly, Roy
was waiting for a pitch so, Zeke extemporized, "I wasn't expecting you to call back so
quickly. I guess you got my message?"
"Yes, my assistant checks messages regularly and thought I'd want to hear
this one. It sounds intriguing. You're lucky you phoned today, as it happens I'm going
to be away from the office for the next few days."
"I'm really glad you called." Yeah, equilibrium was not impossible. He
wouldn't say he was calm, but he could see calm in the distance. "So would you be
willing to do an interview with me?"
"Well, I must admit I'm kind of drawn by the idea of someone talking to me as
a photographer again."
Zeke had to take a moment to crow to himself: Gotcha. "Is there a
time tomorrow that might be good for you?" he asked.
"Actually, tomorrow is awkward. What are you doing right now?"
The balance shifted again and Zeke felt right on the brink of falling into
chaos. "Right now...I'm...just at a bookstore."
"Would you like to meet somewhere for a drink?"
Closing his eyes, Zeke answered, "Where were you thinking?"
"Do you know Flanigan's Pub?"
"Think so," he lied.
"I can meet you there in about half an hour. How does that sound?"
"All right. Thank you."
"No problem. I'll see you shortly wait, what do you look like?"
"Um...I'm kind of tall, with brown hair."
Roy snorted. "We must be twins."
Zeke hung up and for a few moments came close to hyperventilating right
there in the bookstore. Calm! he screamed at himself. You will be fucking
calm, right fucking now! For some reason that wasn't working so he just started to
move, assuming that he would shake it off.
He had a purpose. He would not fuck up.
Now with a somewhat clearer head and some semblance of together-
ness, he found that he was already pointed in the direction of the stationery section of
the store. He picked out a nice, thick notebook and several pens. At the cash register,
he asked for directions to Flanigan's Pub. It turned out that he was not too far away; he
was able to walk there and still be a few minutes early.
It was a classic sort of English pub, with a lot of polished wood, brocaded
seats, and old-fashioned fixtures. The lower half of the walls was wainscotted, while
the upper half was cluttered with memorabilia, all of it intended to invoke a certain time
and place. Zeke found a curved bench seat set into one corner which gave him a wide
open view of the door, then flagged down a waitress. She was dressed in a uniform
that had her resembling a nymph from an Irish Catholic public school. "I'd like a double
vodka, please."
"I'll need to see I.D."
"You're kidding." Zeke had been passing for twenty-one since he was
sixteen. He dragged out his driver's licence and showed her.
"Okay," the nymph said, with a brief smile.
While she was gone, he pulled from his backpack the black and white
reproduction of Roy and gave it a long, careful stare before stashing it away. This was
the most unreal moment of his life, more unreal than seeing the alien tentacles
squiggling around at the end of Furlong's fingers, more unreal than touching Casey in
that very private, intimate place that boys were not supposed to touch boys. This was a
moment out of time, a jagged tear in the weave of ordinary and rational. He took long
breaths, reminded himself that he was not an anxious type but a composed, analytical
person who was super-mature for his years. Sure he was volatile these days, but he
could handle this.
The waitress must have sensed the urgency of his request; she brought him
his vodka almost immediately. He slugged it back before she could get more than a
few feet away, the harsh liquor burning painfully in his empty stomach. "Wait," he
gasped.
She turned, raising her brows at the empty glass. "Another?"
"No, I'd like a beer...what do you have on tap?"
"Keith's, Samuel Adams, Guiness, Carlsberg, Heineken, London's Pride,
Amstel, Becks..."
He stopped her. "I'll have a pint of Heineken...and a menu please."
"You got it, hon."
The vodka was rapidly working its magic; he could feel the first embrace of it
all down his spine, and he sighed with pleasure as the tension was alleviated. Ah, he
was getting brave now...more brave every second. Brave like Casey Connor.
Meanwhile, all the emotion had been stowed somewhere temporarily inaccessible,
where it would have to stay for now.
The door opened, possibly not for the first time since Zeke had come in and
he kicked himself for having fallen down in his efforts to watch it. There was a tall man
standing there who, at a distance, seemed to match the photo Zeke had printed. He
was wearing a creamy wool overcoat that probably cost as much as Zeke's entire
tuition for the winter semester. His hair was shorter than in the picture but it was a dark
brown and his features fit, yes, he was...an older Hugh Grant above the neck...
With Sasha's description reverberating in his brain, Zeke tried to stare
without appearing to stare. The man had shrugged off his coat to reveal a designer
suit, probably Armani or some such. He was coming towards Zeke with a tentative,
perfectly straight, perfectly white smile, and Zeke was forced to accept that while Roy
had been handsome in the photo, he was actually stunning in real life. It might have
had something to do with the way that charm simply oozed from the man, making
Zeke's body into an instant traitor whose every sense sought to like him.
"Jacob?" Roy asked, taking up a stance at the table but leaving a slight
safety margin.
"Donald?" Zeke returned.
A less guarded smile followed. It appeared entirely open and friendly, and it
was a shock. It shouldn't have been. Zeke had known a number of monsters, and they
were mostly non-sinister in appearance. Indeed, they could be the most beautiful thing
you had ever seen.
"Call me Roy," said the man, removing his coat and hanging it on the nearest
brass hook; it was affixed to the flat, outward-facing end of the booth. He offered to
Zeke a hand that was strong yet refined in shape, the fingernails immaculate.
"Everyone does."
Zeke shook that hand, half-rising from his seat. He had been worried that he
would have trouble touching Roy or otherwise carrying off the charade of a slightly
fawning, aspiring journalist, but somehow it was easy. "Thank you for meeting me."
"Oh, no, it's my pleasure." Roy's attentive eyes executed a quick pass over
Zeke, all the way down and all the way up but so quickly and subtly a person might
have thought they missed it. A tiny smile appeared on the full lips.
As Roy sat down, the waitress reappeared with Zeke's beer in a pint-sized,
frosty mug, and the menu that was nothing more than a page with text printed on both
sides and laminated. "Good evening, Roy," she said.
"How are you tonight, Meg?"
"Can't complain, can't complain." The young woman toyed with her hair self-
consciously, her cheeks pinking obviously even in the subdued light. "What can I get
you?"
"My usual, please." Roy gestured at the menu with his eyebrows. "Are you
getting something to eat?"
"Yeah." In fact, Zeke was now so hungry that he was almost sick to his
stomach. Tossing down that vodka certainly hadn't helped the situation. Quickly, he
scanned the plastic card. "I'll have the assorted appetizer platter and then a
Flanagan's burger with everything."
Roy chuckled; it sent a frisson of something down Zeke's spine that he was
appalled to recognize as pleasurable. He couldn't figure out what the fuck was going
on here. He hadn't expected to ever be attracted to another man apart from Casey,
and certainly not this man...even if this man was so handsome it should have
been illegal, and bore the tantalizing smell of some musky, spicy aftershave. Casey
never wore aftershave. In fact, Casey didn't shave. "You're hungry, huh? Can I share
your appetizers?"
"Sure, I guess."
"I'll have the chicken and honey-mustard grill as well, Meg."
The woman nodded and took up the menu.
"And this'll be on me," Roy added lightly.
"Oh, no," Zeke protested. "That's not necessary."
"Maybe not, but humour me anyway."
"But you're the one doing me a favour here."
"Yes, but I know how it is for students. Let me get it, Jake...do you mind if I
call you Jake?"
And Roy touched him, just briefly grasping his wrist where it lay on the table.
"It's okay," Zeke mumbled, surrendering simultaneously to both the touch
and Roy's intention to pay the bill. Zeke or Jake was supposed to be a student,
after all. "But I would have ordered a steak if I had known you were buying."
Roy laughed. Zeke grinned back and slurped his Heineken.
"I'm curious," Roy said. "How did you happen to know of me?"
"I read a piece in the Enquirer...about the new exhibition."
"Oh, yes, of course. So you're a student at U of C?"
"Yes," Zeke answered. Now that he was warmed up everything was coming
easily. He had Mr. Perfectly-Turned-Out Roy Windle gazing intently at him, lapping up
his lies fuck but it felt good to make a dupe of him even if he didn't know it was
happening. Especially because he didn't know it was happening. "Third year."
"Are you from Cincinnati?"
"No...I grew up in a smaller place a few hours away."
"I see." Roy made a wistful face and sighed, "I miss being in school."
"How long has it been?"
"This is the first year I haven't been a student since age five. I was going for
my Ph.D., you know."
"Right...I think I read that."
"Huh. Thank god for the Internet or we'd all be anonymous," Roy
commented, his mouth twitching.
Meg had returned. She placed some sort of fruity looking drink in a wide-
brimmed, delicate-stemmed glass on the table in front of Roy. "Here you go, Roy."
Roy treated Meg to a bit of a leer, which she seemed to receive with
considerable satisfaction. "Thanks, baby," he said, and she walked away almost
panting. While this was going on, Zeke dug out a pen and the new notebook, flipping it
open to the first, blank page. "Oh, are we starting the interview now?" Roy wondered.
"Only if you feel comfortable..."
"Oh, but I love talking about me!" Roy exclaimed. It was wistful and utterly
engaging, with just the right twinge of something regretful. As each minute passed, it
was becoming less of a stretch for Zeke to consider that all this time Roy had been
getting a worse rap than he really deserved. Perhaps, as Sasha had once suggested,
Roy had been seduced to the dark side by Casey himself. Perhaps there had been a
day when Roy felt himself drowning in Casey and no one was around to help him out of
the water.
Zeke only realized he hadn't spoken some time when Roy's voice intruded.
"What are you thinking about, Jake?"
Taking a risk, Zeke said, "Actually...I'm thinking that I don't really feel like
taking notes just yet. I'd rather chat."
"If that's how you want to do it," Roy replied, sounding disinterested. "But
you know that I will need to see the piece before it goes anywhere?"
"Of course."
"You must have a good memory."
"Very good. I might want to write down a few specifics, though...like your
age."
Roy shrugged. "I turned thirty this year."
Zeke dutifully wrote that down, keeping up the pretense. "Did you have a big
party?"
"Just five hundred of my closest friends," Roy replied. Again, there was that
hint of bitterness.
"It wasn't your choice to do it that way."
"No, it was my wife."
"Janice?"
"Yes."
Zeke took a breath, plunged. "I thought you were divorced."
"Not in June I wasn't. Is this relevant to your article?"
"Probably not." Zeke nursed his beer for a few seconds, then met Roy's
eyes squarely. His brows had the ability to take on rather fascinating shapes. "I'm just
interested."
"You want to know about my scandalous marital history? All right...my wife
sued me for divorce a few months back. I didn't contest it, seeing as I'm gay and I only
married her because our families wanted it. Is that enough dirt for you?"
"You're out, then?" Zeke asked the question casually but the part of him that
wasn't entirely committed to his role as Jake was shaking his head in disbelief.
Everything he knew of Roy exclaimed that he would do anything do all the anythings
that he had supposedly done to Casey out of his ferocious need to keep his
sexuality a secret. Zeke wondered what Casey would smash when he learned that Roy
had let his penchant for boys get out in the open.
"Quite. In the past few months I've begun to bring male friends with me to
events."
Zeke nodded. "I saw some pictures."
The platter of appetizers had arrived, bearing little piles and rows of deep-
fried goodness. Zeke bided his time about continuing with the interview, thoroughly
enticed by the smell of grease. He started with a fried mushroom and then, at the input
from his mouth and stomach, his brain blanked out. For the next minute he was mainly
caught up by eating.
"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Roy asked him suddenly.
"What?"
"My being gay."
"No," Zeke replied, licking his fingers. He shrugged. "Sorry if I got quiet
there...I'm just starving."
Roy chuckled. "Like any proper student." He helped himself to a wing,
somehow managing to be fastidious about eating it. "You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you're much more interested in me being gay than me being a
photographer. I think that's what you really want to talk about...because you have a
personal investment."
Zeke washed down a mouthful of food. His adrenaline level was almost off
the charts by now, and with the disinhibiting assistance of the alcohol he was feeling
absolutely fearless. "Meaning what?"
"Meaning...you're into he's, not she's. Am I right?"
"I like he's and she's."
"Of course," Roy smirked. "Yeah, I'm bisexual too."
"I'll say I'm gay if you want, I don't care one way or another...but I really do
like women."
Roy lifted his glass and his brows simultaneously. Gazing directly into
Zeke's eyes, he licked his lips as though the drink had only made him more thirsty.
Zeke scrambled for a question that was substantive; he was supposed to be
doing an interview here, after all. "I'm curious about what it's like for you in the
business world. I mean, since you came out has it been... do people give you a hard
time?"
"You'd be surprised by how polite people are, actually."
"What about working with all those crusty old men in business?"
"I can definitely feel a chill at times. Once or twice someone refused to do
business with me, but mostly it's just a feeling of discomfort." Roy's mouth quirked. "It
hasn't affected our stock any."
"Was that a surprise?"
"Which part?"
"That people are so...well, tolerant."
"Some are just barely tolerant...but yeah, it was a bit." Roy mused, "Maybe
my expectations of people were too low. Maybe they've always been too low, actually.
I've known I was gay for a long time and, obviously, I tried to hide it. Well, I tried to
hide it from my father."
"And he died recently."
Roy looked sharply at Zeke. "Yes."
"And it was after that that you came out."
"You trying to be Barbara Walters, Jake?"
"Maybe."
"I don't want this stuff in the article."
"So it won't be," Zeke said dismissively. He saw that this had not placated
Roy any and leaned in, saying, "Look, I have my father issues, too. And I'll be honest
when I figured out I was gay, I didn't take it as well as I would have hoped."
Roy's expression softened. "You always thought you didn't care about
sexual preference and suddenly you were one of them... Were you disappointed
in yourself?"
"Yeah."
"Me too." Roy sighed. "All right, since we're just two queers having a heart-
to-heart...I don't think that I could have come out while my father was still alive. I'm not
proud of it, but there it is. He was a rabid homophobe and I didn't want him to hate
me."
"I understand," Zeke said softly.
"You know...I think you do."
It was a moment. He was having a frigging moment with Roy. This
couldn't be happening...no, this was not genuine accord, it didn't mean anything. He
was just an actor right now playing a part, and he was a lot better actor than he'd
known. He wouldn't be able to get Roy where he wanted him if he couldn't give the
impression of being at least friendly. Rather than be alarmed that the camaraderi was
coming more easily than it should have, he should just be glad that in public, Roy was
sociable, likeable, even insightful.
Roy shook himself and said, "Hey, we're too serious now. Go on, eat. Take
a break from homework."
Eating was the part of the performance that was a total breeze. Zeke took a
wing and said, "So do you come here often?" Roy smirked at the line, and feeling
himself blush, Zeke added, "I just noticed that they seem to know you."
"Yeah, I'm here at least a couple of times a week. I met Allan here."
"Allan?"
"My the person I'm seeing right now, and he's going to be calling any
second to find out where I am."
"I'm sorry if I'm ruining your plans..."
"Oh, no, not at all. We didn't have anything planned for tonight, but we're
going to Vegas tomorrow."
"That's cool."
"Yeah, it is."
"How long are you going for?"
"Just for the weekend. So how about you, are you seeing anyone?"
This time the anger was a sudden but very welcome ambush, incinerating
the cozy feelings of a moment ago. He wanted to stand up and blast Roy with his wrath
but he slammed down on that and replied briefly, "Yeah, I'm seeing someone."
Roy started to say something but fell silent as Meg showed up with the
burger and the chicken sandwich. "Can I get you boys another round?" she said,
nodding at the almost empty glass and mug. Zeke noticed that the pub had been filling
steadily as he and Roy talked, and the noise level was rising. He wondered what
people saw when they looked at this booth in the corner. Two men picking each other
up? His feelings about that were ambivalent to be sure, but far better that than the
actuality: One man conning and luring another man to some more private situation
where he could crucify him at his leisure. These unwanted waves of attraction had to
be the product of some inverse, perverse identification between him and his target.
"Another?" Roy inquired of Zeke, who nodded agreement. "Yeah, we'll have
two more of the same," he told Meg, wagging his eyebrows first at her, then at Zeke.
He had a habit of appearing to be amused. It didn't come across as mean-spirited, not
that Zeke had seen. It was just a gift for giving the impression of mild delight and
interest in everything that a person did. Zeke could imagine how a person who was
especially vulnerable could be taken over by that facade of character.
"So..." Zeke murmured. He had two hands wrapped around his burger.
Taking a large bite, he closed his eyes to savour the juices filling his mouth.
"Mmm...this is good."
"I have to tell you, Jake, this is different from any interview I've ever done."
"How's that?" Zeke mumbled.
"It feels more like a date...a date with a guy who just asks very pointed
questions."
The shiver that went through Zeke was pure, sexual reaction. It seized his
body and horrified him, beginning in his face, travelling down his spine and settling
heavily in his crotch. It had to be a mistake. It wasn't like Roy was all that attractive;
he was quite appealing and charismatic but certainly not irresistible. Zeke had
encountered plenty of attractive men before and none of them had inspired the least bit
of a tingle. "Well," he said, heart thrumming, skin prickling. "It's not a date."
"How do you know?"
"Because we're both with someone else...and it is an interview. We
journalists have these things called ethics."
Roy smiled at this. "Ah, yes...ethics." He picked up his sandwich and took a
bite. A dribble of greasy juice rolled out and fell on his expensive tie. "Oh, fuck it!"
Roy exclaimed, brushing at it without much exertion. "I'm afraid that's done for." He
unknotted and removed the tie right there, opening his shirt at the collar and letting the
tie slide crumpled onto the seat beside him. Zeke caught a glimpse of a golden,
smooth upper chest, and a thick heat began pooling in his groin.
"Hey, Jake...do they offer a refresher course in ethics at your school?"
Fuck. Roy was seeing him... seeing him seeing. Zeke quickly
hooked a stare on one of the quasi-historic framed photos plastered to the wall
amongst the vintage signs and various, old-world junk. A bunch of guys who looked
like they had just gotten off work at the coal-mines grinned and lifted their mugs.
Around a mouthful of his sandwich, Roy said idly, "Why don't you ask me
some more questions?"
"Okay...um..." It was tough to think with blood flowing in the wrong direction.
"Who are your favourite photographers?"
"That's the best you can do?"
"Give me a break," Zeke retorted. "I'm trying to eat here."
"All right," Roy laughed. "I guess my favourite would have to be Annie
Lebowitz. I also like Ansel Adams...pretty much all the famous ones."
"So you prefer black and white?"
Roy raised his brows, acknowledging Zeke as reasonably well-informed.
"That's right. My own work is almost all black and white portraits, actually. But if you
saw my stuff on the university site you probably know that, huh?"
"Yeah."
"You know..." Roy toyed with the stem of his glass. "I have some portraits at
my apartment that you should see."
Zeke had to breathe carefully lest this entire enterprise slip away from him.
He couldn't believe that Roy was being this blatant. Not that it was unwelcome; he'd
walked into this situation hoping that some sort of opportunity would arise to get Roy
alone and he'd been anticipating making some sort of overture himself. Yet here was
Roy once again taking control of the encounter. "Um..." Zeke said, not wanting to come
across as too eager while at the same time fighting down his instinctive desire to refuse
this man his company. He scrambled for a distraction. "Um...so...so how did you end
up running the family business if you want to be an artist?"
Roy sipped his drink and frowned. "Is that really what you want to say?"
"Yeah. It is."
"All right." Roy made a face of exaggerated reflection, pursing his lips.
"How did I end up doing this? Well, it's simple. My father died."
"But you didn't have to follow in his footsteps, did you?"
For the first time it seemed he'd thrown Roy off his game. With a marked
lack of poise, Roy answered, "I guess I didn't, but he always had this expectation of
me...I felt it was something I owed to him. Or maybe that strikes you as lame."
It did, although Zeke wasn't going to say it. He would never be a lawyer
because of his father or be anything because of his father, for that matter. He
was the master of his own destiny. "Not at all."
"Really."
"Yeah...I think it's cool."
"Thank you."
"You know...there's another question I wanted to ask. Officially, I mean."
"Which is?"
"Is it possible to be a banker and an artist at the same time?"
Roy laughed deep in his chest, attracting attention from all corners of the
room. "I'm not a banker...but I'd have to say yes."
"Do you still take photographs, then?"
"Not...not in the last several months, but you know, it's been a real learning
curve for me, doing this job. I'm just starting to feel more comfortable with it so I think
I'll have more free time soon."
"Do you enjoy it?"
Roy paused. A faint smile crept across his face and he admitted, "Not really,
no. And if you want to know the truth, I'm not really qualified to do it either. I never
studied business and I'm not particularly interested in what the market's doing and how
to leverage the leveraging and all that shit. I've learned quite a bit but I really intend to
rely more and more on my vice presidents as time goes on, so I can do more of what I
enjoy while still keeping my hand in." The smile turned sardonic. "I'll bet you're not
impressed with that, are you?"
"Not really."
"That's okay. I know there are people a lot more talented than I am who
have to do real jobs and never have the time or the freedom to do what they love. So
yeah, it's possible to be a business person and putter around as an artist but maybe it's
only because I'm stinking rich. I'm a privileged bastard and I know it. "
"Well," Zeke remarked, trying to think of something to say that didn't give
away any of his intense dislike at that moment.
"You don't have to comment, Jake, I know how I sound. But at least the
money's good for something. I've very keen about the Windle Family Trust, I won't be
letting that slide. The fact is, our society doesn't place enough value on certain
things...mostly the things that really matter. That's why I'm going to give all I can to the
arts. I know it's no solution but it's a start." With an expression of satisfaction, Roy
capped this speech by draining his glass. Setting it down, "Do you think that's
sufficient for the interview, Jake?"
"I suppose."
"Good because I'd like to just talk now. Is there someplace that you need
to be?"
"No."
"Excellent. Then will you stay and have another drink with me?"
"I guess I could do that." Zeke looked down at the remains of his hamburger.
Nervous anticipation had just filled what was left of the gap in his stomach. He pushed
the plate a bit to the side.
Signalled by Roy's crooked finger, Meg showed up to remove the remains of
their food. She brought back another round and Zeke had to caution himself. Each
one of these pints was like two bottles of beer, and it wasn't the watery, domestic stuff
either. He was already feeling far more laid back than he probably should have been
under the circumstances.
While Zeke was resolving that this would have to be his last drink for the
night, Roy put an elbow on the table and appeared to be about to speak just as his
phone rang. Frowning an apology at Zeke, he answered.
"Oh, hi, baby...sorry, I had an after hours meeting...a reporter...just for a
student magazine...Allan, I'm pretty tired. I'm going to wrap this up then go home and
get rested for tomorrow...so I'll see you tomorrow...yeah, it's going to be great, baby."
Roy snapped his phone closed with a sigh.
"Why Vegas?" Zeke asked, genuinely wanting to know. It wasn't a place
he'd ever thought about visiting.
"Oh, just because. We've never been there and he really wanted to go. He
likes all that gaudy shit."
"But not you?"
"I suppose I like the extravagance of the whole place."
"You don't seem like a very extravagant guy to me."
"Thanks..." Roy grinned acknowledgment of the remark. "No, I'm not really
extravagant, not in any obvious way at least. I have my areas of excess...but I suppose
I've always been something of a geek."
"You're not a geek. I know geeks and you're not a geek."
"Thanks," Roy said. By some trick of the light, his eyes appeared to sparkle.
"So...Jake. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about you now?"
"Turnabout?" Zeke suggested, steadying himself for it.
"Exactly."
"Okay, shoot... Do you mind if I smoke?
"Go ahead."
Zeke could feel Roy's eyes on him as he fumbled out a smoke and stuck it
under his lip. Patting himself down in search of his lighter, he was startled when Roy's
hand appeared in front of him along with an engraved, silver lighter. "Let me," Roy said
softly. Zeke darted a look at him and saw that the older man was conveying more than
the one kind of heat.
Avoiding the eyes across from him, Zeke didn't protest.
As he sat back Roy asked smugly, "How long have you been out?"
"Less than a year," Zeke replied, and smoked with great commitment.
"Really? You don't strike me as the type of guy who'd be in denial."
"I wasn't, exactly. I like women...but I met this person and fell in love with
him...so that was that."
Roy raised his brows. "Wow. Just that easy, huh?"
"Hell, no. I fought it for a while." With his free hand, Zeke took a judicious
taste of his beer. "Like I said, I'm not very proud of that. But I'm okay with who I am
now."
"That's cool." Roy traced the rim of his glass and licked his finger. The
motion was far more erotic than it had a right to be. "You seem pretty together."
"Believe me, I'm not."
"I'm sure you're more together than you think you are. I'll bet you're darned
near perfect, in fact." Roy tilted his head back; he stared up at the ceiling before
lowering his head with a sigh. Zeke was fascinated by how everything the man did
contrived to be watchable. "Not like me. I've done some awful things, totally out of
control things."
"Things that you're sorry for?"
"Of course," Roy snapped, staring at Zeke. For a moment something angry,
perhaps even menacing, glittered in his eyes. Then it faded and he said, "Like for
instance, I'm going to ask you to come back to my apartment with me in a little while,
even though I'm with someone and you're practically a stranger."
"Do you always cheat on your boyfriend?"
"'Cheat'...sounds so middle class." Roy touched Zeke's hand for the second
time that night. "Cards on the table, baby. The truth is, you're not my usual type at all,
but there's something about you. Maybe it just boils down to incredible hotness. I'd
like you to come home with me so we can have a good time and go our respective ways
tomorrow you to write your little assignment, me to Vegas. Yeah, I'm going to lie to
my boyfriend but it wouldn't be the first time, and it won't be the last. What do you
say?"
Zeke just smoked for a count of five.
"I could go for that," he replied, careful not to sound too pleased with himself.

Roy's apartment comprised the entire top floor of a more-than-one-hundred
years old building, in a neighbourhood that was one mansion after another,
interspersed with palatial townhouses. While the exterior of the building was heavily
traditional worked from stone and crusted with heavy flourishes, even guarded by a
security man in a gilt-piped uniform the interior of Roy's home had been transformed
into ultra-contemporary. From the doorway Zeke could see most of it and the theme
was monochrome; the furniture and walls were white, with very few colour
accents. A lot of the decorative touches were in glass. The only exceptions to the rule
were the large, framed photographs that were hung on the walls. The frames were
black and the mattes white, making for a stark but striking effect.
"My not-so-humble abode," Roy said as he showed Zeke in and took his
coat. "Only for when I'm staying in the city, of course. My house is out in the country.
What do you think?"
"It's, um...nice."
Roy laughed. "Don't flatter me or anything."
"It's fine." Zeke caught a glimpse of a large terrace off the living room. It
had to be spectacular in summer. Right now it looked forlorn and a bit icy, dotted with
potted shrubs that had been wrapped for the winter.
"Interior design's not one of your interests, huh?"
Zeke's eyes had moved to one of the nearby framed photos, hanging in the
hallway. It was a headshot of an old man, and if it had been in a gallery, Zeke wouldn't
have thought to distinguish it from the work of a professional. Of course, art wasn't his
forte. "This is your work?" he said, gesturing to the picture.
"All of it, with a few exceptions."
"I like it."
It was then that Zeke noticed Roy's stare. It was a gaze of growing demand,
an acquisitive, hot expression that stopped just short of vulgar. "I'm looking at another
work of art, right now," Roy said quietly.
Zeke couldn't help it; he laughed. It was nerves, it was surprise, and it was
the ridiculousness of the comment of the whole situation.
Roy must have had no experience of insecurity, for he just raised his brows
and wondered, "A bit too precious?"
"Just a bit."
"Let's try a different approach..."
Roy Windle was making his move. He was gliding in, intent upon Zeke's
lips. Standing absolutely in place, Zeke seemed to have no shortage of time in which
to decide what he was going to do. There was the bewildering attraction he had felt
and there was curiosity...but what about that attraction? It made no fucking sense to be
attracted to a smooth-talking asshole who was so entirely loathsome to him. And what
about Casey yeah, what about him? What would it feel like to commit the same
crime? What did it feel like to be Casey knowing he had been with a person that he
didn't want to be with, just to make some kind of point
There was a pressure on his lips and an invitation and Zeke was frozen, not
quite resisting and not quite participating, experiencing something the same as what he
had known, but utterly different. Something that tasted new...that tasted like revenge.
Okay, perhaps it wasn't right but it could be right enough...no, it wasn't right,
and...Um, hello, Zekie boy, what are we doing? This is Roy trying to kiss you, this is
Roy... nuzzling his neck wrong and the...fuck...the tongue flicking
against his ear...all of it wrong.
Zeke evaded Roy's next attempt, shifting back and away. He closed his
eyes and willed his cock down.
Soon he was cognizant of the fact that Roy was gazing at him in open
surprise at finding himself thwarted. Well, not thwarted so much as having just been
unacknowledged. Zeke was pretty sure that was something that had never happened
to Roy before.
"Sorry," he said. "I'm having...an...an attack of guilt."
"It's all right, it'll pass," Roy said, still seeming puzzled. "How about we have
a drink and relax for a bit?"
"Sure."
"You wanted to see my work, right?"
Zeke didn't recall saying that but he nodded anyway.
"Check out the study. Some of my best stuff is in there...I'll get you a drink.
What would you like?"
"Oh...whatever you're having."
Zeke went down the hall to the door that Roy had indicated. With an antique
wood desk and shelves filled with books, this room was somewhat warmer than the rest
of the apartment. One wall was hung with a series of three images. As he approached
them Zeke was barely paying attention, drawn instead to the bookshelves until, for a
second time in the same night, he exclaimed out loud in shock.
Casey was here, in Roy's study.
In the photo he was sitting or kneeling with his head slightly averted, gazing
up towards the right of the frame with a beseeching expression. Roy had caught his
face at a most serendipitous angle, while the absence of colour had forced his hair and
his eyes to become various shades of darkness. To view it was to contemplate a
person seized in a state of complete exposure, the photographer mercilessly offering a
glimpse of the subject's world, a place that had to be chaotic and frightening but
compelling. It was as though one could, as they took in the photo, feel the obsession of
the photographer to the extent that they shared in the watcher's sadism, drawn to an
aesthetic of suffering. Implicated in the moment, they would not come to the subject's
rescue.
Zeke vaguely heard Roy come up behind him. He stayed in place, staring at
the photo, at Casey captured in a rectangular frame. Wordlessly, Roy handed Zeke a
tumbler full of some kind of golden liquor, and they stood side by side gazing at
Casey's image.
"Did you take this?" Zeke asked.
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
Roy answered, "He's someone I was seeing for a while. A student at the
university. Beautiful, don't you think?"
"I was thinking that you must be a very good photographer."
"I'm not bad but what you're seeing is just him." Roy, it seemed, was far from
having grown tired of looking at Casey; he was staring, unbashed. "He's even better in
real life, that's what I always tell people when they comment on this picture. Almost
everyone who comes in here notices it. I've had buyers in here asking to purchase him
but I can't give him up."
Zeke's crisis of ten minutes ago had vanished. He knew exactly why he was
here and he was so infuriated that he could have done murder or at least serious
physical harm. For two years Roy had kept Casey hidden and refused to let the world
know about their relationship. For two years he made Casey think that he was nothing,
that he didn't really exist. Zeke had expected to find Roy pining and seething in secret.
Instead, Roy was going out in public with this Allan, among others, and he proudly
displayed Casey's captive image to anyone who happened by the apartment.
"He looks really young," Zeke forced out. His jaw ached, he was clenched
so tight.
"Ah..." Roy coughed. "I was a bad boy, I'm afraid. He was one of my
students."
"Huh." Zeke didn't dare try to say more.
"But I swear, I never forced him to do anything."
Now it had come, the moment when his feelings became uncontainable. His
hands were knotted, his throat working as he struggled not to ruin everything by
performing an unscheduled evisceration.
Roy had to have seen his emotional upheaval, even in profile. He asked
Zeke, "Are you okay?"
"I was wondering..." Zeke heard himself sounding tinny and loud. "Does he
know that you have him hanging here?"
Rather than respond immediately, Roy took a long swallow of his whiskey.
When he did answer, his voice suggested some anger but more curiosity like it
never had occurred to him that anyone would find offence in having their picture on
display without their knowledge. "He knew I took the photo, obviously but to answer
your question, no, he does not know and he's unlikely to. I'm never going to see him
again and I'm never going to sell him. He'll just stay here for my private enjoyment and
it won't hurt him any. Frankly, I don't know why you're getting your shorts in a knot over
this."
Hearing Roy admit that he would never see Casey again held some soothing
power. Zeke was able to force his eyes off Casey, to look at Roy and speak more or
less normally. "You don't think that there's anything wrong with it?"
Roy massaged the area around his mouth once, delicately, like he wanted to
be sure that he wasn't foaming inadvertently. "I don't think there's any harm in it, no."
"No, you wouldn't, would you. I'm sure it never occurred to you. In fact "
Zeke took a step in Roy's direction, closing the distance. It was just a little closer than
friendly. "I doubt you that you ever ask yourself if anything's right or wrong before you
do it."
"What is this?" Roy had forced his head back a few inches but otherwise
didn't give up any ground. "I thought the interview was over."
"I just want to know."
A sly smile crept over Roy's face. "You're a strange man. Are you about to
show your true colours? Accuse me of being a rich bastard, beat me up or something?"
Zeke snorted. "Like beating you up would make any difference."
"But I see the way you're looking at me. Why did you come up here if you
have all this contempt?"
"Contempt isn't the word."
"What is it, then?"
"A kind of amazement. I'm trying to imagine how you justify you to
yourself and I can't figure it out."
Roy's eyes widened. "You don't know me," he said. "All I've done, that you
know of, is cheat' on my boyfriend. Lots of people do it...including you, baby."
"But you've done a lot more than that," Zeke pressed.
Roy just stood there for a moment, rooted to the floor while Zeke speculated
as to the emotions and thoughts chasing each other in his head. If nothing else it must
have dawned on him that this encounter was not what he had imagined and that it was
in his best interest to end it quickly. He held out his hand, reaching for the empty glass
that Zeke was still holding while saying, "With all due respect, Jake, you're a lovely
male creature and I was really hoping to fuck you but now I think you're probably a bit
too insane. I'd like for you to go."
Zeke pushed it into Roy's hand with considerable force, enough that the slap
of glass against flesh was audible. "You've done a lot more than lie," he
reiterated, beginning to choke a bit on his words as everything he'd been keeping in
check throttled speech. "Tell me what you did."
"You know, I'm pretty sure I've asked you to leave "
"Tell me what else you did to him." Zeke jerked a thumb at Casey on
the wall. "Besides put him on your wall without his permission. What else did you do
without his permission?"
Abruptly Roy fell silent. "Who are you?" he asked, almost whispering.
"Consider me your priest."
"I don't do confessions." Roy was staring at Zeke. "Did we meet before and
I don't remember?"
"No."
"Then who are you?" Roy had been holding his body like it was all he could
do to not bolt, but before Zeke's eyes he steadied, the trembling dissipating as his
habitual smirk reasserted itself. A few steps took Roy to his desk, where he placed the
two glasses he was holding. As he did this he must have been ruling out possibilities,
for he abruptly spun to face Zeke and said, "You're here because of Casey, you must
be his friend...his boyfriend maybe?"
"Maybe."
"And your real name?"
"If you know I'm his boyfriend then you know who I am."
"Oh, hardly!" Roy said, waving an arrogant hand. "I do remember him
mentioning some dumb jock in Herrington who was leading him on but you wouldn't
do that, would you?"
Zeke had come too far to be goaded into losing control. "Say my name," he
returned evenly. "Say it now."
"Okay, Zeke, " Roy admitted. "Well, good for you. You sucked me
right in. So are you going to kill me now, or just beat the crap out of me?"
Zeke unclenched hands that had been balled at his sides. "Neither."
"You've set all this up but you don't want to hurt me?"
"Oh, I didn't say that."
Roy smirked knowingly.
"I would love to hurt you," Zeke continued. "I've fantasized about making
you bleed more times than I can count but that wouldn't really satisfy me." He
shrugged and folded his arms to disguise how hard he was shaking. "Also, I won't be
of much use to Casey if I'm in jail."
"Well, aren't you a cool customer," Roy drawled.
"I'm not cool. I'm pretty fucking far from cool. I'm under control right
now and I don't intend to touch you, but if I were you I would watch what I say."
A sneer materialized, shaped out of the fear on Roy's face. "Threatening me
now, are you?"
"No. Just warning you."
"So what do you want?"
Zeke took a bit of time to breathe before committing himself to a very deep
dive. "Just what we've been doing," he answered, at length.
"Meaning what?"
"I mean I want to ask questions and get answers. Just consider this an
extension of the interview, but this time you have to tell the one hundred per cent truth."
"I do, do I?"
"Yes."
"And why is that?"
"Because if you don't, I'll go to the police and the media tomorrow and tell
them that you sexually assaulted a boy who was ten years younger than you, someone
who also happened to be your student."
Roy didn't do anything but blink, and Zeke was unwillingly impressed by his
ability to take a hit and come back swinging. "Sexual assault," Roy scorned. "What are
you going on about?"
"The Best Western in Herrington, Park Avenue. August twenty-third."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm talking about you and Casey and Janice in a bed, doing things that
Casey didn't want."
Yeah, Roy was good but not that good. "You wouldn't," he said. He was
mostly calm, but Zeke did not miss the rising tide of colour in his face.
"I promise you, I would."
"You wouldn't do that to Casey."
"Let me tell you something about me, Roy. I can be a bit of a prick myself. I
often make big decisions about Casey's future without consulting him. So ask yourself
if I would I sic the press on him or drag him through some court proceeding just to get
you. I think you know the answer to that question."
"There would be no proceeding, as you put it," Roy shot back, almost
quivering now. "There's no case and even if it did go to trial, you'd lose." Startling
Zeke, the man began to move, drifting across the room to lean on his desk. "You'd
have put Casey through that for nothing."
"But we both know it's public opinion that concerns you whether you were
convicted or not. And I wonder what would happen to those stocks of yours."
"I know you think I'm pretty hot shit, baby," Roy sneered. "But I'm not a
celebrity. People don't care that much what I do."
"You're a celebrity in your little world. Just think if your friends, relatives,
your crusty old business associates knew what you'd been up to...or even if they
suspected. What do you think would happen to the Windle name then? Your father
would just be turning in his grave, wouldn't he "
"Shut the fuck up," Roy murmured. His eyes had closed at some point
during Zeke's last speech. Opening and narrowing them, he asked, "What do you
really want? Money? I'll give you a shitload of it if you just go away."
"I don't need money. I told you, I just want to talk. I want you to tell me
about you and Casey and I don't want to hear you trying to excuse or justify yourself. I
don't want to hear any of that manipulative crap you put in your letter to Casey...yeah, I
read it and I know what your bullshit sounds like."
Roy stared at him. "You...you just want to talk."
"I want an honest conversation."
"You do mean a confession, don't you? And when it's over?"
"We go on with our lives...provided that you can satisfy me."
"I was quite prepared to satisfy you when we came up here." Improbably,
there was a smile on Roy's lips. "Our Casey has some taste, doesn't he?"
"Some of the time."
"Oh, but look at us both. We're just "
"Totally different," Zeke broke in. "For one thing, I actually care how Casey
feels. And I have this curious habit of treating him like a human being."
He cringed inwardly at his defensive tone even as he finished speaking.
Fuck. He had shown weakness and it was unacceptable.
"Wonderful," Roy crooned, not wasting the opportunity. "And I'm sure it's
only a matter of time before he throws you over for someone who's not nearly as good
to him as you are."
Okay, this was a lesson. Whatever happened, whatever verbal missiles Roy
lobbed, Zeke couldn't, mustn't flinch. He must not react. He held himself still,
struggling to think of a neutral response.
"Or has it already happened?" Roy intuited, voice soft. "Yes, I think it has."
"Are you going to talk to me or not?" Zeke snapped.
"I don't know. Somehow I don't think you can really do me much damage."
"Then you don't know me very well."
Roy took a while to mull that. At length, he said, "I suppose I'm not surprised
that someone showed up to give me hell. I must say I did expect it to be...someone
else."
"Like Sasha, maybe?"
Roy blinked. "You know Sasha."
"He lives with us."
"Lives with...?"
"Me and Casey."
"Oh...I see." Instead of being contemptuous or sardonic as Zeke had been
expecting, Roy just looked regretful, much as he had been when Zeke was pretending
to interview him earlier. "Well, no, I don't see but I'm not really interested in finding out
how your little threesome came about. Sounds hot, though."
"Do we have an understanding or not, Roy? This is the last time I'm asking."
Roy uttered a long sigh. "Just remember...you started this."
"I can live with that."
"You may not believe me, Zeke, but it truly was my intention to leave Casey
alone. Did you know that he phoned me a while back?"
"Yes."
"I never thought he'd shout at me like that... I was shocked by how bad he
sounded "
"Stop. Right there."
"Why? I only "
"I don't want to hear that."
"Well, what do you want to hear? And could we maybe go into the living
room and sit while we do this?"
Zeke found himself wanting to resist the idea solely on principle, and
realizing how ridiculous that was, he agreed. They might as well be sitting plus, he'd
feel easier in his skin without Casey's picture presiding over him. "Okay." As they
moved down the spacious hallway, Zeke asked, "Is this the apartment where you and
Casey were together?" He tried to imagine Casey rattling miserably about in this frigid
space.
"Fuck, no. That apartment was much smaller, a bit more like a student's
digs... although I realize I never actually lived like a student."
They had arrived in the living room, which was about the same size as the
entire apartment that Zeke lived in. Roy waved at an assemblage of white couches and
chairs grouped around a glass and crystal coffee table. "Have a seat." He went to the
bar set against one white wall. "Would you like another drink?"
"No, thanks."
"I promise I'm not going to poison you."
"I know. But I don't want one."
With his back to Zeke, Roy shrugged. Moments later he sat down, holding
his second tumbler of whiskey and keeping his distance. Zeke saw his hand shake as
he lifted it to his mouth.
"I'm curious," Roy said after the first gulp had gone down. "Why didn't you
just phone my office and say who you were?"
"Would you have responded?"
"I don't know yes, I think so. I don't think I could have resisted."
"Would you have responded as quickly?"
"Hmm...no, probably not. And you wouldn't have had the pleasure of
dangling bait and watching me grab at it. You liked sitting there in that bar doing chit-
chat, knowing who I was while I didn't have a clue about you, didn't you?"
"I wanted to see how you'd behave if you didn't know who I was."
"Oh, but it's more than that, isn't it? You just had to have me under your
power, didn't you, Zeke?" Roy downed the rest of his drink all at once, coughing
slightly. "So so what did you think?"
"About what?"
"About me...you said you wanted to see how I'd behave, how did you find
me, then?" Roy sloshed the droplets of liquid in the bottom of his glass, studying them.
Zeke considered not answering but it would probably come across as
defensive yet again. "I can see why Casey got drawn in," he answered.
Roy grinned at this, then said in a low voice, "I'm the only man you've ever
been attracted to other than Casey, aren't I?"
Profoundly grateful for the instinct that had kept him from responding to
Roy's attentions in the hallway, Zeke answered, "Checking out your package doesn't
mean I was attracted to you."
"Hmm...are you going to tell Casey about our kiss, I wonder?"
Zeke suddenly didn't care how defensive he might seem. "We didn't have a
kiss, and it's time for you to start answering my questions."
Roy smiled a bit more, like he knew something that Zeke didn't. "All right.
Can I just ask one more thing, though?"
"What?"
"How is Casey?"
Upon hearing those syllables formed by Roy's lying mouth, Zeke could
barely speak for anger. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "I told you to
watch yourself."
"I'm not trying to provoke. I really want to know."
"He's been better."
"My poor baby," Roy said softly.
"I suggest you shut up before I hit you."
"Do I not have a right to care?"
"No," Zeke refused, "since your caring seems to have no effect on how you
treat people."
"Oh, but we've established that I'm a self-absorbed shit," Roy returned gaily.
"You say that like it's something to be proud of. Do you think it makes you
deep and tragic, being so unhappy with your life that you can't control what you do to
people?"
This brought about a new kind of smile; Zeke wasn't sure what it signified.
"You're quite surprising, Zeke. I hope you realize it."
"I have a proper appreciation of my talents, thank you. Now how about we
get down to it?"
Smoothing an imaginary crease in his shirt, Roy said, "By all means, let us
get down to it'. Where would you like me to begin?"
"At the beginning, when you and Casey met. And I want to know what you
really thought, not what sounds nice and romantic. No bullshit."
"It sounds like you already have your own ideas about it, why should I take
the trouble to tell you otherwise?"
"Oh, so you were just going to help him with his homework?"
"I'm going to tell you the truth and you can believe it or not. The first time I
saw Casey, it was his face on a poster."
"Poster...?"
"Someone at the campus newspaper must have thought it would be fun to
turn Casey into the prank of the week. I don't know how they found out about his alien
story, maybe they were flipping through old newspapers and recognized him
somehow...anyway, they put his picture on a flyer and plastered it to every flat surface
on campus. He was already having a hard time, being away from home for the first
time, in a new school and now all of a sudden people were looking at him like he was a
nutcase."
"What did they do to him?" Zeke growled.
"I don't know about them doing anything. I just saw that he was in my class
and he was so sad...actually, he was heartbreaking and I couldn't help myself. I
approached him after class and invited him out for coffee. I only wanted to help "
Roy lifted a hand to forestall Zeke's expression of disbelief " for about the first five
minutes." Smiling a private smile, Roy went on, "Of course I noticed right away how he
looked but you're just going to have to accept that for a whole five minutes I had
nothing but teacherly intentions towards him."
"And then what?"
"Then...nothing. I wanted to spend time with him, he wanted to spend time
with me. We spent time together. Sorry to disappoint you but I didn't have some
master plan to seduce and lure him against his will."
"But he was your student."
"Yes, and he was extra super young and innocent, and vulnerable and
that sure the hell made him tempting but I would never have forced him to do anything.
He was interested in me too. God, he never wanted to let me out of his sight. He had
this way of looking at me..." Roy drew an almost rapturous breath and let it out like he
had just achieved release. "...and he thought everything I did was wonderful,
everything I said was brilliant or funny...do you have any idea what that feels like, how
addictive it is?"
Zeke ignored the last. "But you never felt the least guilt over what you were
doing, did you?"
"Oh, I knew how our relationship would be judged but the person whose
opinion really mattered to me was my father. He knew I was gay, but he had that old-
fashioned idea that homosexuality is like some sickness...like you can overcome it if
you work at it. I had promised him I would never be with another guy. And then Casey
blew that promise right out of the water."
"Which you blamed him for."
"No," Roy said, far too quickly. He glanced up at Zeke; he shrugged,
admitted, "Okay, I did resent him."
"What difference is there?"
"Huge. I know perfectly well in my head that Casey never made me do
anything, that it wasn't his fault..."
"But...?"
Roy shrugged. "But every time I looked at him it was like he stole my will,
and of course he never gave a fucking damn what people thought of him. He was so
used to being different, he didn't know anything else. He didn't know about my promise
to my father...I don't see how he could have, but I just know he wouldn't have cared.
He asked me to come out one time, just like that. Try being hated,' he said. I swear,
he wanted people to know about us. My father everyone."
"Did you really think you could keep a promise like that?"
"As stupid as it sounds, yes, I did. I know now that it was impossible but at
the time I really thought I could have kept it if Casey hadn't been so...well, if he hadn't
been Casey. I do know that I was wrong, you must have read that in the letter. I
explained how I was terrified of being found out and that was why I hardly ever went
anywhere with him. But he didn't seem to mind as long as I spent time with him."
"Didn't mind?" Zeke echoed in outrage.
Roy shook his head. "Hey, I'm trying to explain what I thought at the time,
not justify it. I know he minded, I know it hurt him but he was no frigging picnic
either. He was always so clinging and desperate, it was a real downer. I have enough
trouble staying out of the dumps as it is...that's the other reason I avoided him."
Zeke couldn't think of a response to that, other than breaking a few of the
freak's nice, white teeth.
"And he did hurt me too, you should know that!" Roy went on, his voice
heating. "He showed up at my parents' house one Christmas and pretty much outed
me without my permission or even a warning."
Zeke clenched and unclenched his fists, and imagined he was squeezing
something that just happened to be a part of Roy's anatomy. "How did he do that?"
"He'd had a bad time with his folks that Christmas so he came looking for me
at my home. I had no idea he was coming, he didn't tell me or try to phone me before
he showed up. I realized after the fact that he had no idea what he was doing but it
didn't matter, the damage was already done and before you ask what damage, my
father took one look at him and knew what was going on. He told me to end it but I
couldn't."
Roy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran his hands
through the pretty, brown hair, massaging his scalp.
"It got pretty bad after that," he continued, lifting his head. "I kept thinking,
just one more time and then I'll tell him but I couldn't do it. I would stay away for days
and days, sleep over at Janice's or even stay in a hotel, but then I would be sneaking
back to my apartment to see Casey. What I didn't know was that Janice had actually
hired someone to watch my building...so she knew to the minute how much time I spent
there and when Casey was there...and you have no idea how she could be. At one
point I convinced Casey to meet me at my office at school and she showed up there
too. She started screaming at Casey and me through the door. We were both naked
and of course he did one of his blanking out things so I had to dress him and myself
before I could open the door. The whole time she's out there pounding and yelling.
When she came in she called him slut' and whore' and told him to leave me
alone...and he didn't seem to hear her, so she slapped him. He just stood there and
took it, which made her even more angry."
Zeke was on his feet and stalking the room, unable to dignify this crap by
sitting still for it. "You fuck," he muttered.
"You'll have to be more specific, Zeke. Which part are you hating me for
now?"
"Did it never occur to you to get him some help?"
"Of course."
"But you didn't do anything."
Sincere, shit-brown eyes peered up at Zeke. "I didn't want to believe that he
was that bad "
"You didn't want to think that you made him that bad."
Roy made a fist that trembled in the air for a few instants, then dropped just
as suddenly, punching his own upper thigh. "I'm not responsible! I may have done
things I regret but I'm not the cause!" He seized on his empty tumbler and checked it
like he was hoping to find that it had magically replenished itself. "He was crazy from
day one and it just got w "
"He was not crazy, he never has been "
"And I suppose you're going to tell me now that there really was an alien
invasion."
Zeke countered without hesitation, "Yes, there really was an alien invasion.
Casey told the truth about that, but you know what? That's beside the point. The point
was that he did need help, a fact that you conveniently ignored so that you could keep
fucking him whenever and however you liked."
"I cared about him."
"Oh, right. You cared so much that you had to knock him around and leave
lots of bruises...so he couldn't forget how much you cared."
"What I didn't "
Positioning himself in front of the couch where Roy was sitting, Zeke let
himself loom and hope that Roy got every bit as scared as he fucking deserved.
"When I found out about your little hotel visits last summer...it was only because he
looked like somebody's chew toy and he couldn't hide it anymore."
"I didn't abuse him...You can't have sex without getting a mark or two."
"You can fucking well try. But you didn't want to try, did you? I saw the
outline of your fucking teeth on him, you can't tell me you didn't want that to hurt."
"He likes it rough, Zeke, you know that perfectly well, I'm sure so why don't
you get off your high horse!"
Zeke moved into an ominous hover and Roy pressed back against the
pristine, white cushions.
"Did he ever ask you to hurt him?" Zeke demanded, nearly shouting. "Or did
he just take it so he could be close to you?"
"God, how fucking vanilla are you?"
"Enough that I don't try to use my teeth to carve a collar on someone I care'
about call me boring that way!"
"I do. I call you young and unimaginative. And you're exaggerating."
"What if I told you that the morning after you were done with him I had to
take him to the hospital?"
There was a visible impact at last. "You you mean but he wasn't in
good shape, I know that that wasn't my doing."
"The doctor thought he'd been sexually assaulted."
Roy blanched. "And...?"
"And he couldn't find anything that would prove it but he knew what he was
seeing. He thought I did it, that doctor. He looked at me like I was the kind of creep
who would beat on a person half my size and just pass it off as a good time "
Shaking his head, Roy tried to look away from Zeke.
"Don't you fucking try to evade me," Zeke hissed.
"I'm not...I didn't," Roy muttered. "We just had sex, that's all we did and
you'll get the fuck away from me now, if you please."
Zeke eased back no more than an inch. "He was fucking traumatized, you
fuck. He still is."
Roy suddenly slammed his empty glass down on the hard wood floor; Zeke
heard it break. He leaned over and said, almost in Roy's face, "Now you're going to tell
me what happened in that hotel room. Everything. I want you to tell me just how much
you wanted to hurt him and just how you did it."
Raising a shuddering hand, Roy scrubbed at his eye. "You want me to lie."
"No, I want to hear the truth that you haven't dared to admit to yourself, you
cowardly piece of shit. Come on, I'll help you get started...Casey belonged to you,
right? Even if you had dumped him to make Janice happy and he'd gone home, he still
belonged to you "
"Sasha."
"Huh?"
"Sasha forced me to dump him."
"Okay, whatever... Then Sasha made you say it was over but you knew that
it was definitely not over, didn't you? Casey was yours and whatever you did to him
he'd still come back for more."
"That's right he needed me "
"And you needed him so bad, didn't you? Without him there was
nothing in your life that was truly yours."
"Yes," Roy mumbled.
"And no one else should have him."
"That's fucking right!" Roy shouted, startling Zeke into taking a step back.
The backs of his calves encountered the coffee table and he almost overbalanced. "In
fact, when I saw him in Herrington I suggested to him that no one else seemed
interested in him and I'll tell you, I didn't have very much trouble convincing him."
Once again Zeke took to pacing the living room. It was either that or get
bloodstains all over the nice, white furniture. "How did Janice end up in that room?" he
asked as he measured the distance from one wall to another.
"She was kind of obsessed with me Casey, too, in a bizarre way. She
found out that I'd been going to Herrington and confronted me about it. She ordered
me to stop going there." Roy made a face to suggest the type of scorn that must have
greeted Janice's demand. "Naturally, I refused."
"Naturally," Zeke echoed.
"I left and went to meet Casey...the last thing I expected was that she'd just
follow me."
"How do you mean, follow you?"
"I mean she showed up at the hotel later. She just showed up, she told them
she was my wife and of course they were happy to give her the room number. I'm sure
she thought to find Casey and me together but he'd already gone. Janice and I fought,
she wanted me to come home and never see Casey again. I said I was going to stay
there and wait for him like I promised. Then she used the D' word and it just escalated
"
"'D' word?"
"Divorce."
"Oh." Zeke couldn't comprehend why Roy would be so scared of losing
someone he didn't want to be with, but he wasn't about to engage in discussion about
it.
"It got to the point that she told me if I wanted to have Casey why didn't he
just come and live with us, that way she'd know where I was at all times. I told her
maybe we should all sleep in the same bed too. I didn't expect her to take me up on it.
She said, then you convince him or never see him again. I'm sure she thought he
wasn't even going to show that night. But then he did show up "
Which would have been right after the disaster that had been Delilah's
birthday party and Zeke's "coming out", but he wasn't about to share that.
" and he'd been completely fucked over by someone before he got to me.
I guess you'll have to tell me about that. He was hysterical. Worse than hysterical. I
tried to calm him down "
"I don't want to hear about anything kind that you did."
Roy folded his arms and rolled his eyes. "All right, then... I wasn't kind, I'm
never kind, I never do anything in the least bit decent and I only tried to calm him down
so that I could persuade him to get naked with Janice and me. I got her to leave and
then, by god, I fucked him so good, so sweet "
"What did he say?" Zeke choked, coming to a dead halt in the centre
of the living room. His hands itched. His skin was crawling with rage and disgust.
"Say?"
"When he realized what you wanted...with Janice."
"He said no at first. He was very clear about what he didn't want hell, I'm
not sure he even knows what to do with a woman."
"If you don't...I'll...so help me, I'll hurt you if you don't stop."
"Okay, total truth then," Roy said, with a complete absence of remorse, or
even interest. "He knew what he didn't want and he didn't want Janice. He told me in
no uncertain terms. I sent Janice away so I could change his mind...do you want to
hear this blow by blow?"
"I want to know what you did to change his mind."
"You mean how I peeled his clothes off and had him with his face in the
pillows and his ass in the air and how he wanted it so much he practically vacuumed
the cum out of me?"
Zeke took a step towards the prick before he could stop himself. Just one
step, and just one lovely fantasy of Roy crying and begging for mercy while his blood
ran freely onto the polished hardwood. He ground out the words: "Are you trying to
die?"
Roy opened his mouth. Closed it. "No," he said, unexpectedly subdued.
Zeke tilted his head, scrounging for a hurtful comment in lieu of bloodshed.
"You really despise yourself, don't you?"
The older man looked quickly at Zeke. "Don't you dare "
"You must hate yourself so bad. Poor daddy's boy, so scared of being
yourself...Gotta find someone to take it out on, huh? You pitiful fuck."
"Are you my priest or my shrink now?"
"You raped him."
"I did not."
"Say it!"
"I did not and I will not," Roy snarled. "He never said no to me, never. He
did say no to Janice at first but he let her join in later. It wasn't rape, none of it."
"But you know you did something wrong."
"Of course I did," Roy said tiredly. "I'm not an idiot. I didn't set out to hurt
him but I did take advantage of him. He was obviously very sick and I shouldn't have
touched him that day but I can never seem to help myself when it comes to him. There,
I've confessed. Are you happy now?"
Zeke held his position. "That can't be all," he said.
"But it is."
"You're lying."
"I'm not. I fucking swear it."
"You have to be lying! There has to be more, there has to be a reason for
"
He stopped.
"Reason for what?" Roy asked. His voice was deadly, soft and terrible in its
compassion.
Helpless with sudden grief, Zeke couldn't form a retort. Nor a question. He
couldn't quite remember who he was angry at.
Roy's sardonic voice intruded. "You thought you could make sense of
everything by coming here, didn't you?"
Zeke could only fall back on a sullen glare, backed by accusation. "It has to
be your fault."
"What has to be?" Roy had gotten a whiff of Zeke's blood now, and he went
for the jugular without hesitation. "Did Casey do something bad? Did he misbehave, or
is he just making you miserable in general?"
Both, Zeke thought, but had the presence of mind not to say. He was still
standing in the middle of the living room, so drained he wanted to sit down right there
on the floor.
"I think I see what you're up to," Roy went on. "You want to believe he's an
innocent victim but he's not having any of it, is he?" He shook his head, smiling. "That
sounds like my Casey."
"He's not your "
"And he's not yours either, from the sound of it." Roy's voice was gaining in
strength. "What's going on, Zeke? He wouldn't say I raped him so you come here
thinking you could get me to say it?"
Rather than crumble onto the floor, Zeke moved to sit on the nearest piece
of furniture, which turned out to be at the other end of the couch that Roy was sitting
on. His entire body was weighted down by the knowledge that he shouldn't have come
here.
"Well, " Roy said brightly when Zeke had been silent for a while. "It's very
late. You need to be getting back to your hotel unless you were planning on staying
for something else?"
Zeke looked at him just in time to glimpse the come-hither. "You're out of
your mind," he said, wondering if he might vomit, so intense was his disgust.
"You're attracted to me, Zeke."
"How sick are you that you would have sex with me now?"
"I find the idea kind of appealing, actually."
Roy sidled down the couch until he was close enough for Zeke to smell his
aftershave. He stroked Zeke's chest, toying with a button. "It is sick, isn't it? I want to
touch you and think of you touching Casey...and you want me to touch you because it's
so naughty and perverse and you're so angry..."
Zeke shoved him back. "Get your fucking hand off me."
Smiling, Roy slithered back to where he had been. "Okay, baby. Like I said
before, you really aren't my type."
"And I prefer my sex with human beings."
"Ooh," Roy pouted. "Sticks and stones, baby. It's just as well...I really do
love my boys small and pretty...and the needier the better, you know."
The words instantly incinerated all the oxygen in Zeke's lungs. He had
known this already and he had even said it to Roy but until now he hadn't truly
appreciated how pitiful Roy was, how very profoundly he despised himself. The man
was repulsed by his own desires, and he was repulsed by Casey for fulfilling them.
"I do believe that it's time for you to be going," Roy said, rising gracefully to
his feet. "Thank you, Zeke. This has definitely been one of the more interesting
evenings I've had "
"I'm not done with you yet," Zeke said.
"Oh, please. You are so done."
"I want to meet Janice."
Roy looked bored, which Zeke was beginning to recognize as his stand-by
for covering up panic. "Now why would you want to do that? I've told you
everything...and I've told you she didn't do much of anything. Allow me this one noble
impulse."
"No. I want to hear the story from her too."
"What makes you think she'd ever tell you?"
"Because I'll do the same thing to her that I threatened to do to you if she
doesn't."
Slowly, Roy folded once again into the couch. He said, "She's trying to put
everything about her marriage to me behind her..."
"And she can...after she talks to me. You still speak to her, don't you?"
"Barely."
"I'm sure you can get in touch with her."
"She's probably out of town...you know, enjoying the holidays like some
people do?"
"How about you humour me and let's find out?"
"Right now?"
"No time like the present. Call her up...I'll wait."
Roy's jaw set. He stared at some indefinable point on the wall.
Zeke shrugged. "I can always find her myself. It may take some time but I
will, and then you'll have no knowledge of what I say to her or what she says to me. I
tell you what...you think about it while I get my coat on. You have until then to decide."
He was allowed to take several steps, almost out of the living room before
Roy called him to a halt. "Wait, goddammit."
Zeke stopped. He waited.
"All right!" Roy yielded. "All right, I'll call her but I can't promise anything."
"I get that," Zeke replied, twisting around.
"And what do you want me to say?"
Zeke took a second to pretend to think about it. "I want to sit down with the
two of you for a nice, private discussion, and when that discussion is over, this whole
business will be over."
Roy nodded, seeming slightly dazed. Without a word, he grabbed for his
phone. It was white like everything else, styled like something from the sixties. He
dialled from memory, Zeke noted, which was interesting considering he and Janice
"barely spoke". Whenever Zeke stopped speaking to a person, he usually dumped
their phone number from his memory banks.
"Hello, Rhonda...I hope you've been having a good holiday. Oh, not
bad...yes, she's down in the Dominican right now...Yeah, don't we all...so, is Janice
around? Really? Lucky break for me, I thought she's be off somewhere
herself...Thanks." Roy put the phone against his shoulder. "She's there," he
whispered. "Why don't you talk to her?"
"You talk to her first," Zeke replied. He was enjoying watching Roy squirm
far too much.
A woman's voice issued from the handset. "Roy?"
Roy quickly put the phone back to his ear. "Janice, it's Roy...yes, sorry..."
The voice at the other end was angry. Roy coughed and overrode it. "Just give me a
second and I'll tell you...You know that subject that we said we'd never, ever talk
about...well, we have to talk about it."
Janice's reaction was easily heard and understood, even if Zeke couldn't
make out a word of it.
"Will you give me a fucking second? This isn't my doing, I swear it. I have a
man in my apartment right now " Roy was cut short as the feminine voice rose even
higher in volume. "Does it matter how? Is it any of your business...? Thank you. As I
was saying, I have this young man in my apartment. His name is Zeke Tyler and
he's...he's Casey's boyfriend. Yes, he's standing here right now."
Roy's face was very red. At last he was sweating and Zeke was just petty
enough to enjoy the sight of it.
"We've had a very candid conversation about what happened between you,
me and Casey...well, he informed me that I have no choice...anyhow, I'm afraid he isn't
satisfied and he wants to hear your version of things."
There was no reaction to this that Zeke could hear. He reached for the
handset, taking it from Roy's shaking hand. "Give me that..." He pressed it to his ear.
"Janice?"
A cool, surprisingly detached voice replied, "Yes."
"This is Zeke."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to agree to meet me and Roy in my hotel room tomorrow at..."
Zeke bumped up the time he had been thinking, then bumped it up again. "...at three."
"I have plans for tomorrow."
"I suggest that you change them."
"And if I don't?"
"I've told Roy that if he didn't cooperate I'd go to the police and the press
with what I know. He believed me and I'm making the same promise to you. If you
go along with this it will all be over tomorrow and you won't need to be afraid of getting
dragged through the mud. All I really want is the truth and I'd rather have the trial in
private, but I'll go public if I have to."
It was incredible how even in asking a question the woman contrived to
sound imperious. "But you got Roy to tell you what happened, didn't you?"
Zeke replied, "Can I trust Roy to tell me the truth?"
Janice was silent for quite a while. Then she acceded, "All right...three
o'clock tomorrow. Which is your hotel?"
"The Hyatt."
"Do you want me to come right to your room?"
"Wait for me in the lobby. I'll meet you and Roy there."
"Acceptable," she said, and hung up.
Zeke hung up. "You heard," he told Roy. "Three o'clock."
"I'm supposed to be leaving for Vegas with Allan tomorrow morning," Roy
protested.
"You'll have to make other arrangements."
Roy observed, "You're really here for revenge, aren't you? Not the truth."
It was an interesting experience to watch a person hating you and unable to
do anything other than that; Zeke soaked it up and answered at his leisure. "Truth is
the priority. Revenge is a bonus. Good night."
Standing, he collected his coat and backpack and departed. The doorman
downstairs was happy to call him a cab.
Something happened in the cab, though. One moment he was sitting,
looking out the window and thinking about how tired he was, very diligently not
replaying the conversation with Roy and the next, he was trying not to weep. He
held on through the drive back and paying the cab driver and all the way through the
lobby to the bank of elevators. He did not have the elevator to himself so he had to
hold on all the way to the ninth floor.
Once his door opened, he dropped his backpack and walked the straight line
in front of the TV set, pressing his fingers against his eyes, gasping and snuffling until
he had gotten control over himself. No, he was not falling apart, that was not what was
going on here. He was just too fucking tired. His day had been abominably
long...incredible to think that it had begun in the Connors' kitchen.
He had only enough energy to strip before he fell into bed, and a soft, black
void.

It was undoubtedly a good thing that he had made his appointment with Roy
and Janice as late as he had, because he slept until one o'clock the following day,
waking up ravenous and absolutely wired.
The first order of business was to call up room service and order the biggest
steak dinner on the menu. While he was waiting for his food, he shaved and showered
and got dressed. When the meal arrived, he was on the phone with a travel agent.
There was a flight that night at nine, to Houston; he would have to spend the night
there but then he could get on a ten-thirty a.m. flight to Los Angeles and be at LAX by
noon the following day which, he thought with satisfaction, was still a day before the
wedding. After gobbling up his twelve ounce steak, loaded baked potato and a salad
that Sasha would have described as tragically uninspired, he called housekeeping and
asked them to come make up his room. Then he headed down to the lobby.
Whereupon he realized that he had a problem. There was nothing to do but
wait and sitting was out of the question. It seemed as though his skin might actually
split open, such was the purity of intent that hummed under it. He gave only brief
thought to calling home to see how Casey was doing very brief thought. There was
no need for it. Nor did he call his father. He didn't have anything more to report, and
once this was done he would hop on a plane and be in Los Angeles with time to spare.
To stay unconfused, be the old Zeke that was all that he truly needed. The old Zeke
had a plan to carry out today. The plan was beautiful, brutal in its simplicity, and there
was no place in it for sentiment.
In the half hour he had to wait, he walked around the hotel block five times,
using the kind of rapid stride that would never have worked if Casey had been around.
Casey could cover a lot of ground for a person with such short legs but at this speed
Zeke would have quickly left him behind. He would have been forced to ease off, to
modify the length and frequency of his stride...just as he would have to change his
entire approach to this day. Or even to give up oh, yes, it was good to be alone,
because he was not done. He was so very fucking far from done.
It was just a few minutes before the designated meeting time when he
planted himself in one of the couches in the lobby. In a hotel of this size there was a
constant flow of activity through the three entrances, each of which faced a congested
major street or avenue. He chose a position where he could watch what he considered
to be the "front" entrance, but he decided not to mind if he missed them coming in. He
simply couldn't watch all three doors at once.
"Here we go," he muttered.
They might decide to call his bluff, though, and just not show up. But he
rather thought they would and it was imperative that he not bluff or give way on any
point. He had to be prepared to do what it took, regardless of the cost. Scandal in the
papers, a notorious trial... oh, he did love the idea of a trial. Roy and Janice suffering
blow after blow to reputation, pride, finances...and even better, Casey being compelled
to talk. That was a perverse delight to contemplate except, Zeke realized with a
tinge of bitterness, not even the force of judicial authority could make Casey talk when
he chose not to. He would shut down or work himself into such a state that no
competent doctor would let him out of the hospital to testify. Casey, like Zeke, would
do whatever it took.
But he was a fuckwit, to be thinking of Casey now. That was absolutely what
he must not do, not if he was to be successful this afternoon. He must keep that
crystalline, glittering purpose. There could be no doubt, no weakness.
Zeke committed himself to not think to look around instead, maybe
observe the people around him for a bit. There were several other men sitting nearby,
reading newspapers or magazines. There was a youngish woman sitting on the edge
of a couch, uneasily perched between two of the men, her suitcase by her feet, half-
blocking the row between the couches. Her eyes met Zeke's; she smiled slightly and
glanced away. Over at the long, polished counter there were all manner of well-
dressed, well-turned out people, but Zeke saw one man in jeans and plaid flannels,
wearing hiking boots. On his other side, the hostess for the hotel pub-restaurant was
trying to politely handle what looked like a homeless man. Zeke imagined that this was
a frequent occurrence; they were in the core of the downtown and it was winter.
He checked his watch. Five after three.
Maybe it was for the best if they didn't show. It was time to go on to the
wedding maybe, admit defeat...but then after, he didn't know what. He just knew that
he couldn't let things go back to how they'd been before.
"Zeke."
He careened back to reality and saw Roy standing there maybe five feet
away, alongside a slim, blond woman. She wore the kind of high-end conservative
style that could be afforded only by the very wealthy. Her jewelry was subtle; her hair a
smooth, shoulder-length mane of blond, an effortlessness that pr |