“Dude,” Jav said. “I think I’ve officially arrived as an author.”
“What?”
“I got a dick pic.”
“Look out, coming in hot.” Stef hopped over the back of the couch and hustled to the desk to peer over Jav’s shoulder.
From: [email protected]
Subject: You
Say the word and your going to be in heaven.
All this for you. Anytime. Anyplace. Anywhere.
A photo of a blond man was attached. Naked save for a pair of gym socks. Sculpted to within an inch of his life and hefting a ten-inch wonder schlong in the palm of one hand.
“Damn,” Stef said. “What do you think?”
“He used your instead of you’re.”
“Fatal error. How about the visual?”
Jav crossed his arms and leaned back, his head touching Stef’s ribs. “What’s with the socks?”
“Ugly feet, maybe?”
“I don’t know. Leaving socks on suggests a fear of commitment. Plus I don’t like porn that breaks the fourth wall.”
“What?”
“The way he’s looking at the camera. It’s arrogant as hell. Don’t look at me, dude. I’m a voyeur, not a participant.”
The doorbell rang. “Delivery,” Stav shouted from outside. “Are you decent?”
Jav, extremely indecent, hot-tailed it to the bedroom while Stef got the door.
“What do you think of men who wear socks in bed?” he asked.
“To sleep?” Stav said, handing over a paper bag with two bagel sandwiches.
“To fuck.”
“God, no. Who fucks with their socks on?”
“No socks,” Jav yelled from the bedroom. “If you’re getting naked, then commit.”
“Stay for breakfast?” Stef said.
“No, I’m taking the moms to brunch. Hi, cookie, you didn’t have to dress for me.” Stav tilted her head up for Jav’s kiss on her cheek.
“How do you feel about porn that breaks the fourth wall?” he asked.
“You mean when they’re looking right at the camera? Hate it.” Stav shuddered. “Enjoy breakfast, guys.”
“I love her,” Jav said, unwrapping his bagel. “She calls me cookie.”
“She’s good people,” Stef said, closing the door. “Her husband was a world-class prick, though.”
Jav’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?” he asked around a mouthful.
“He was a construction manager, worked a huge renovation project at Long Island University, another at C.W. Post. Plus he ran an industrial cleaning company on the side. Long story short, in the midst of this three-ring circus, Robert embezzled a few million dollars. A large portion of which he spent on his…” Stef raised two fingers in the air. “Second wife.”
Jav turned his head until only one eye was showing. “While he was married to Stav?”
Stef nodded. “Which actually turned out to be fortunate. Stav didn’t know what was going on and never received or benefitted from the stolen funds. But Wife Number Two did, and it made her liable. I think she served four or six months. Bobby’s still in Sing-Sing.”
“Jesus.”
“I guess better heartbroken than heartbroken and in jail. Actually, no, forget it, it was shitty all around.”
“I can’t imagine…” Both Jav’s voice and eyes trailed away. Stef quietly finished his sandwich. The rest of the story wasn’t his to tell. Not the physical and emotional abuse. Not the baby Stavroula lost in the bagel shop’s kitchen. Not the hole in the dough room’s wall Micah made with Robert’s head. Not the year it took for Stav’s smile to come back or the tiny grave in Baron Hirsch cemetery she visited once a year.
“I was talking to Stav about her volunteer work at Exodus Project,” Jav said. “I’m thinking I want to do something like that, too. Give back.”
“Ask her to bring you along one day.”
“Wouldn’t that be weird, though? Me volunteering where you work?”
“I don’t work for Exodus Project.” Stef licked ketchup off the crease of his pinky. “I’m employed by the Coalition for Creative Therapy, which happens to be in the same building. If you come two days a week to work in the EP kitchen, I’ll just stay away from that side of the house those days. Who’s to know except Stav?”
“You sure?”
“As long as we don’t screw in my office, I don’t see a problem.”
“Forget it, then. Screwing in your office was the point.” Jav tilted all the crumbs and bits of egg off the tinfoil into his palm, then offered the handful to Roman. He got up and started washing last night’s dinner dishes, moving easily around Stef’s kitchen.
Roman stared up at Stef, licking his chops.
“Help you?” Stef said.
Roman put a paw on Stef’s knee and the liquid brown of his eyes deepened into pure adoration.
Stef sighed and fed him a bit of bacon. He loved this damn dog.
He loved everything right now.
He and Jav weren’t moved in together but with no discussion, each moved over and made room for the other. A second toothbrush was a no-brainer. T-shirts and socks and sweats and jackets inevitably got left behind, so it made sense to free some space in the closet, clean out a drawer. Getting Roman a second water dish and leash to keep at Cushman Row was no big deal. Stef rarely used his desk, so why not clear it off in case Jav wanted to do a little writing?
Or a lot of writing, as became the case in the second week of December, when Jav got back the first draft of The Chocolate Hour from his editor, Michael.
“Congrats?” Stef said, not sure if this was good news.
Jav shook his head. “I’m not going to be fun to be around the next few weeks,” he said.
“Good to know.”
“Oh, and the talking to myself thing? It’s about to get worse.”
He wasn’t kidding. Jav nattering to himself became a weird background noise in both their apartments, like spoken Muzak. Jav stared into space mumbling. Or paced around muttering. After a while Stef tuned him out, no longer trying to understand the one-sided conversations.
Sometimes Jav would be silent, eyes glued to the monitor, fingers on fire. Then he’d abruptly spin in his chair and point straight at Stef. His eyes lit up wide as if Stef had just cured cancer.
“What?” Stef said.
A slow smile spread across Jav’s face. “Yes,” he said. The pointing hand retreated and fell flat on Jav’s head. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Nothing. Thank you.” And he’d spin back to the computer again.
Stef shook his head. “Glad I could help.”
Often Stef came home from work to find Jav in a heated phone discussion with Michael. Almost all of them ended with Jav hanging up and muttering, “Prick.”
“Asshole.”
“Son of a bitch.”
And assorted Spanish epithets Stef was sure weren’t flattering.
“Why don’t you find another editor?” he asked.
Jav topped up Stef’s coffee cup. “Because Mike’s good.”
“But it sounds like you hate his guts.”
“I hate him because he’s right, goddammit.” Jav put the milk away and slammed the fridge door. He stomped back to his desk, growling like a bear woken early from hibernation, while Stef and Roman exchanged indulgent looks.
Stef was amused by Jav’s creative process, but oddly protective of it. Benignly ignored, he fell back into his artwork, sketching and painting and messing around. He cooked on the rough nights, put plates in front of Jav at the desk and took them away afterward. No matter how engrossed, Jav always said thank you.
It was the little things.
Things like Jav, who had an enviable and natty wardrobe, choosing to wear Stef’s clothes instead. Ignoring his cashmere V-necks or merino pullovers, he spent weekdays in Stef’s grubby old Skidmore hoodie, his scent lingering in the collar and cuffs.
“Hold still.” Goddamn, but nothing could get Stef more worked up than Jav saying those two words.
“Hold still, Finch,” he whispered, his hands and mouth gliding along Stef’s body, peeling his clothes off. Sometimes he pulled free from the tangle of their limbs and pushed Stef onto onto his back, pinning his wrists to the bed.
“Hold still a minute,” he said, breathing hard, his hungry eyes wide.
Stef went still under Jav’s touch and gaze, letting him look and touch and take it all in.
It was Roman trotting up to greet Stef at the door, genuinely glad to see him. Or Jav carrying shopping bags for Rory and Lilia. Girls coming by the table at the bagel shop, shyly asking Jav for an autograph. Smiling at Stef as they waited, a little curiosity in their eyes.
Stef smiled back, thinking, Sometimes I come home from work and Gil Rafael’s walking around my apartment in his underwear.
Don’t hate me because it’s beautiful.