Chapter Fifteen
Wind picked up, sending orange and yellow leaves—still moist from the recent change in weather—swooping to the ground. With just a few weeks until December, winter should be asserting its hold, but that never seemed to happen in Texas. Most of Tim’s classmates were already bundled up and shivering, but the weather seemed mild compared to Kansas winters. Tim sat on the porch steps leading to the frat house, wearing an old pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, while pushing buttons on his cell phone.
He could never get a strong signal inside the house, but he didn’t mind going outside since it afforded him more privacy. Tim checked the time before making the call. Monday mornings were always the best for calling home. His father would be at the office, but his mother always needed time to ease back into her work week. “People say Friday night is part of the weekend,” she would say. “Why can’t Monday morning be as well?”
Tim greeted a frat brother heading out for an early morning jog and considered skipping class to do the same after the call. He pushed the send button and counted the number of rings before the phone was picked up. This time it was four.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mom.”
“¡Gordito! How are you doing?”
“Fine. Heading out to class soon.”
“I was just about to get to work,” his mother said with a yawn, but he knew she would make excuses until after lunch. “What have you been doing lately? Have you met a girl?”
Her favorite question. “Yeah, too many. I don’t know how I’m supposed to choose.”
His mother laughed. “With your heart, Gordito. You’ll settle down when the right one comes along.”
That one had already come and gone, as far as Tim was concerned, but Travis had potential. He was no Ben, but then who was? He changed the topic, like he always did. Besides, he had a reason for calling. “Thanksgiving is this weekend.”
“Yes. Did I tell you that your Aunt Emily is coming down? She’s had a terrible time with the divorce, but met someone new she’s bringing along.”
“Really?” A family Thanksgiving was rarer than rare, even when they still lived in Kansas. Usually his parents would go to a friend’s house for cocktails or something adult-ish, but with Aunt Emily there, maybe this year would be different. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Emily again,” he hinted.
“Oh, well, she’s only down for the weekend, and I’m making your father drive us down the coast to Matamoros. Emily still hasn’t seen Mexico, so I’m taking her across the border.”
“Sounds fun,” Tim tried, but he already felt a pit in his stomach.
“What are you going to do? Eat with some friends? Should I send you some money so you can all go out?”
Eric was having a party, but Tim hadn’t committed yet, saying he needed to check the family plans. “What are you guys doing for Christmas?”
“Your father wants to see snow. Isn’t that mean? He’s taking me to—”
Tim barely heard the rest of the conversation. Once again, he would be on his own for the holidays. What angered him most was that he kept getting his hopes up, still caring if he saw his parents. Events played out like this every year, and foolishly, he kept putting himself through it. Ella kept chirping happy thoughts into the phone, Tim making just enough noises to prove he was still there. Then Travis brushed past him on the way to class. Maybe there was hope after all! As quick as he could, Tim got off the phone and ran to catch up with him.
“Hey!”
Travis looked at him like he was crazy. “Long time no see,” he said sarcastically. “What’s it been? Half an hour?”
Tim grinned. “I know. You should stop by my place sometime.”
“We live together.”
“Do we?” Tim played dumb. “Funny, I never noticed.” This earned him a smile, so he pressed on. “My parents are bailing on me for Thanksgiving. Isn’t that lame?”
“Mine are being cheap,” Travis replied. “They said they could either fly me home this week or for Christmas, but not both, so I’ll have to drive up there to see them.”
“What is that, a fifteen-hour drive?”
“More like eighteen.”
“All that for some turkey.” They stopped at a crosswalk, the morning traffic too heavy to cross without the pedestrian light turning green. Tim wished it never would. “You could hang here with me. A friend of mine is having a party. It’ll be more fun than a long boring drive.”
“Nah, I’m flying up there,” Travis said. “Thanksgiving is the only time the whole family gets together. My sister lives in Minnesota and doesn’t come down for Christmas anymore, and my brother is heading to boot camp in December. I’m thinking I might spend the winter break slowly driving up there, maybe seeing the sights along the way.”
“Or you could stay with me.” Tim said it with enough meaning that Travis’s expression became guarded. They hadn’t slept together for weeks now—drunk or sober—and Tim felt like he was trying to catch one big Kentucky catfish with a shining, spinning lure made of sex. “I’ll get a place for us, somewhere away from here. Somewhere secluded. Just you and me.”
The light turned green. Travis started crossing the street. Over the idling engines, Tim just barely heard him say, “I’ll think about it.”
Tim let him go. To catch a fish, sometimes you had to let up on the line before yanking it in.
* * * * *
Eric’s kitchen had come to life, pots bubbling and steaming, ovens baking and grills snapping. There wasn’t a burner or surface not in use. Eric moved from spot to spot with baster in hand, even when he wasn’t working on the four turkeys, but before long he’d be back at the ovens, squirting juice on the birds’ roasted skins.
“It’s good that you came early to help,” Eric said over the din.
Tim glanced at the small army of caterers and cooks Eric had hired for the party. So far Tim hadn’t been much use at all. “You owe me,” Tim said, hoping for a laugh, but Eric had singed a finger and was sucking on it sullenly. “I have big news.”
Eric pulled the finger from his mouth. “Do tell!”
“He said yes.” The way Tim grinned, anyone would have thought he had successfully proposed, but Eric understood.
“Travis is letting you take him on a trip?” Eric passed the baster to one of the cooks and joined Tim at the kitchen’s edge, dragging along a stool to sit on. “I know you said not to, but I called my friend about that cabin in Colorado Springs. It’s still available.”
Tim had checked out the website the first time Eric mentioned it to him. The cabin was secluded and beautiful, perfect in all aspects except for one. “I’m hoping to find something cheaper.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “I told you I’d pay for it. It can be my Christmas present to you.”
“And I told you no. Get me a pair of socks or something. I’m not letting you spend that kind of money on me.”
“The offer stands,” Eric said with a shrug. Then he nudged him. “Well, it looks like you have something to be thankful for today.”
“It’s a Thanksgiving miracle!” Tim said with exaggerated glee.
“I mentioned the two snowmobiles that belong to the cabin, didn’t I? Yes? Very well, I’ll stop. Who has my turkey baster?”
Eric was on his feet and dancing around the kitchen again. An hour later, Tim finally found a way to make himself useful when the doorbell rang. Guests arrived in droves, many of them men around Eric’s age, but a few younger couples came too and a group of rowdy lesbians who kept grabbing Tim’s ass and calling him k.d. lang. The guests took care of themselves, for the most part. Waiters walked the room with champagne and hors d'œuvres, and soon Tim didn’t have to rush to the door every couple of minutes.
He mingled while waiting for Eric to join the party, taking note of the guests’ different reactions. Some of the older guys turned up their noses at him, perhaps preempting the attitude they expected. There were a lot of unfinished questions too, variations of “So you are Eric’s… ?”
“Friend” was the only answer he gave, although clearly most of Eric’s guests had already assumed otherwise.
Then there were the guys who hung on Tim’s every word, laughing a little too loud at his jokes, eyes darting down his body when they thought he wouldn’t notice. At least they were nice to him, even if it made him a little uncomfortable.
This made him realize just how rare someone like Eric was. He didn’t seem to want anything from Tim except companionship. So far, he hadn’t made a move or flirted seriously. He could have been straight, considering how little he reacted to Tim’s appearance.
Unlike the guy eyeing him from across the room right now. Tim was used to guys sneaking peeks, but this man was shameless, leering at him even when Tim looked his way.
The man was Eric’s age, but hadn’t taken care of himself. He was heavy, bearing in weight a lifetime of indulgence. His thick fingers were adorned by jewel-encrusted rings, his suit finely tailored, and his dark hair slicked back against natural curls, a few of which had broken free. If Eric had an opposite, this man was it. Tim couldn’t stop looking his way, mostly because he felt his constant gaze. This soon lured the man over.
“Marcello,” he said, extending a warm and slightly sweaty palm.
“Tim.”
“Tim!” Marcello repeated. “How nice to meet you. Eric said he had a new friend, but he failed to mention how young and attractive you are.”
“Maybe he was trying to protect me,” Tim said.
Marcello barked laughter at this, delighted at the subtle slight. “He may have been indeed. Well, it’s too late now. The secret is out. Are you still in college, Tim?”
Almost reluctantly, Tim answered the basic questions about himself while Marcello shamelessly sized him up like a prize bull. Tim wasn’t sure what to make of him. The name sounded foreign, but Marcello’s husky voice held no trace of accent.
“I deal in multimedia,” Marcello explained, swiping two glasses of champagne from a tray passing by. He handed one to Tim. “Art, really, stationary images or moving pictures. The Internet has revolutionized the way we experience art, don’t you think?”
“I’m not really sure.” The room applauded as Eric finally made an appearance.
Marcello kept his attention on Tim. “I mean that we don’t have to leave our homes to visit an exhibit or museum. We can enjoy all kinds of imagery from the privacy of our own homes, which of course has made people more honest about what they want to see. That’s the blessing of anonymity.”
“Funny,” Tim said. “I’ve found that the more anonymous a person is, the more free they feel to lie. Ever read a personal ad?”
Marcello barked laughter again. “Too true. I suppose anonymity makes people honest about what they want, but not what they are. I’m sure you’ve never felt the need to lie about your appearance, have you?”
“Oh, hello, Marcello!” Eric stepped between them. “So nice to see you. I’m afraid I need Tim’s help in the kitchen for a moment.”
Marcello bowed as if to royalty. “I’ve always said, Eric, that everyone enjoys your parties except for you. Try not to work so hard.”
“Tell me that again once you taste the turkey!”
They chuckled together politely before Eric led Tim down a hallway. “Sorry for interrupting,” he said, “but I didn’t want you being taken advantage of. Did he make you an offer already?”
“An offer?” Tim shook his head. “No.”
“Oh, he will.”
“That guy deals in porn, doesn’t he?”
Eric stopped walking and turned to face him. “Marcello has his fingers in a lot of pies. If it has to do with exploiting beautiful men, Marcello makes money from it.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not doing porn.”
“Good, but Marcello doesn’t deal only in pornography. He owns a modeling agency, for instance, and you can make good money at a photo shoot. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. If he offers you a job, say no. At first. Marcello goes to ridiculous lengths to get what he can’t have. He won’t give up, so name an astronomical price. Money begins to lose meaning when you have as much as he does. Play your cards right, and you’ll easily be able to afford that cabin for Travis.”
“Think so?”
“Yes. Or you can accept a gift from me and not deal with Marcello at all.”
Tim shook his head. “I can deal with Marcello. Why are you friends with a guy like that, anyway?”
“Oh, he’s not so bad. He does a lot for the community, even when distracted by the latest pretty thing. The charity balls he hosts every year raise so much money that entire organizations depend on them. But, Marcello can be pushy. Don’t let him be in charge of you.”
“I won’t.”
They returned to the party together, both ignoring a few knowing glances directed at them.
“Quite a turnout this year,” Eric said.
Tim nodded. “I’m surprised so many people came. Thanksgiving is usually a family thing.”
“Yes, but gay people choose their families, especially when they get older. I’m sure everyone here has parents or siblings they could be with, but there comes a time when all relatives seem to talk about is their children or grandchildren, problems at school, or parent-teacher conferences. The list goes on.” Eric sighed. “Sometimes you just want to be around others who are on the same page as you are, no matter how little you might have in common.”
On second thought, Tim was glad Travis wasn’t here, since this is exactly what he feared most. Somehow Tim would have to give him the traditional family he wanted. “Gay people can adopt.”
“Yes, we can,” Eric said, “and we have our own special way of doing that.”
Eric put an arm around Tim’s shoulder. The gesture was proud, affectionate, not creepy or lecherous. Forget kids! As Eric guided them both into the party, Tim wondered if anyone had adopted someone as their father before.
* * * * *
Five thousand dollars. Five thousand dollars. Five freaking thousand dollars!
This mantra ran on a loop through Tim’s mind. When modeling for Marcello, he had expected to fend off unwanted advances and have his integrity repeatedly tested. None of that had happened. What he hadn’t expected, however, was hard work.
Currently he was posing in front of a lake, wearing nothing but a swim suit while two photographers stalked around him, grumbling.
“Your stance isn’t natural at all,” one of them complained.
“Maybe because it’s the middle of fucking winter!” Two weeks into December, in fact. Shouldn’t he be decked out in burly sweaters, posing in front of a Christmas tree? Tim glanced over at Marcello, who was bundled up and toasty in a knee-length fur coat. Where were those PETA activists when you needed them? “Can I at least sit in the car and warm up for a minute?”
Marcello grunted. “The cold is good; makes your skin tighter.”
Tim glanced down self-consciously. What was wrong with his skin normally?
“However,” Marcello continued, “I think I’ll sit in the car until we’re finished here.”
When Tim glared at him as he wobbled away, one of the photographers gasped happily and began turbo-snapping pictures.
“What are these even for?” Tim said. “Who wants to buy a swimsuit in the middle of winter?”
“Winter is over, darling,” said one of the lighting technicians. “At least as far as the industry is concerned. You have to stay ahead of the game!”
“Less talking, more sulking,” one of the photographers ordered.
That part Tim could handle. This had been the weekend from hell. He had felt so proud at Eric’s Thanksgiving party when haggling with Marcello. Tim had started at ten thousand. Marcello had barely blinked, but still he talked Tim down to five, with the promise of only having to work two days. And Tim had jumped at the offer, thinking he had the upper hand. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Yesterday morning was spent being passed around from beautician to beautician. First they cut Tim’s hair. Gone were the lanky locks that he had preferred since high school. He loved having his hair long, especially since his father always complained about it. His mother would come to his defense, saying, “In Mexico, men can have beautiful hair too.” Sorry, Mom, because now his hair was buzzed short on the sides and gelled into messy spikes on top. They had wanted to give him highlights, but Tim had drawn the line there.
Then came makeup, not just for his face but for nearly his entire body as well. The first photo shoot yesterday involved swimsuits, but at least they had been in a warm studio. Then Tim was put into outfit after outfit, Marcello consulting the list as they went along, naming fashion brands too exotic to be cheap.
In the afternoon, another model was brought in, a guy with long blond bangs and arms so toned that Tim felt like hitting the ground for some push ups. Both he and Tim were outfitted in the same kind of pseudo-letter jackets that high school kids wore in the fifties. Then they had to get tangled up in just about every position imaginable, the clothing coming off piece by piece. Sometimes they were posed like buddies with their arms around each other. For other photos they might as well have been dry humping.
“Stick your tongue in his ear,” the photographer said at one point.
“Which one of us?” Tim had asked.
“Don’t worry, dude,” his modeling partner replied, bringing his tongue close to Tim’s ear. “I’m straight.”
“Aren’t we all?” Tim muttered as his ear canal was filled with saliva and a barrage of flashes blinded him.
The endless outfits, poses, makeup, and homoerotic modeling partners went on and on, well into the evening. Then Tim went home to sleep. Unfortunately for him, the next day brought crisp clear winter weather, which the photographers loved. This meant he was paraded from location to outdoor location, all of them freezing.
“I think that’s it for the light,” one of the photographers said, checking a meter. “We’ll have to make do with what we got.”
“Gee, thanks,” Tim grumped, grabbing a bathrobe from a nearby folding chair and stomping toward the limousine. After climbing into the backseat opposite Marcello, he slammed the door extra hard to make his unhappiness clear. “You’re really getting your money’s worth, aren’t you?”
“I always do.” Marcello chuckled. “You know, there are less time-consuming ways to make money. They pay better too.”
Tim was too smart to ask. Porn was out of the question, and Eric had warned him about Marcello’s escort service that catered to an elite clientele. Instead, he pulled the robe tighter around himself and watched the crew outside gathering their equipment. The sun was going down, which hopefully meant that they were done for the day.
“Just one more shoot,” Marcello said. “This one on the rooftop with Austin’s lights glittering in the background.”
Tim sighed. “And me in a swimsuit?”
“In a gentleman’s suit, actually. A tuxedo.”
That was a welcome change. “Do I have time to grab dinner first?”
Marcello checked his watch. “Plenty, but don’t overeat or your stomach will show.”
He was one to talk! “Don’t worry. After a day like today, I’ll probably just drink my dinner.”
“Or you can dine with me.”
Tim shook his head, attention still on the crew outside. “If we’re heading back to your house, I thought I’d visit Eric.”
Eric’s home wasn’t far from Marcello’s place, and right now his grounded presence would be a welcome relief. Tim could rely on Eric not to treat him like a piece of meat. Those photographers were brutal!
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Marcello said. “How is Eric holding up?”
Tim tore his eyes away from the window. “Holding up?”
“Well, you know.” Marcello watched him, playing subconsciously with the rings on his fingers. “Or don’t you?”
“What?” Tim snapped.
“Never mind,” Marcello said, as if the topic suddenly bored him. “Get out there and tell those damn photographers they’re riding with the crew if they don’t hurry up. I’m starving!”
Tim watched him a moment longer, but Marcello acted as if the conversation had never occurred. If this was some new game, Tim wasn’t playing it. Instead he went and told the photographers that Marcello wanted them to ride back with the crew. They were furious, but weren’t about to complain to their employer. Tim grinned all the way back to the limo.
Once back at Marcello’s home—just as grand and ostentatious as its owner—Tim hopped into his car, enjoying the solitude as he drove to Eric’s. Try as he might, he couldn’t purge Marcello’s words from his mind. How is Eric holding up? Since Eric and Gabriel split up, maybe? Wasn’t that ancient history? There had to be something else, unless Marcello was screwing with him. Even for Marcello, that seemed too childish, like a kid declaring with glee that he had a secret.
When Tim got to Eric’s house, an old Honda Civic was pulling out of the driveway. Tim slowed in the street, blinker showing he intended to pull in after it. The car backed out and crept forward in his direction, a chubby-cheeked woman checking him out with interest.
She slowed when their windows were lined up, rolling hers down. Tim did the same, recognizing her from last month. This was the woman Eric described as being too chatty. Maybe she intended to have a long conversation with Tim right here in the middle of the road.
“Are you family?” she asked.
Wasn’t that slang for being gay? Or did she want to know if he was related to Eric? Tim barely remembered Eric describing this woman as neither friend nor family, so he winged it. “Yeah, I’m family.”
“Well, bless you! I know this isn’t easy.”
What the hell was going on? Like a secret phrase passed from spy to spy, he tried Marcello’s mysterious words. “How’s he holding up?”
The woman was exasperated. “I don’t have to tell you that Eric is a stubborn old goat! That’ll keep him strong for a while, but he certainly won’t listen to me. Have you tried talking to him about chemo?”
“Chemo?” Tim repeated with dry lips.
“He can at least give it a try instead of throwing in the towel. I’ve seen it help people in his situation before.”
Tim nodded dumbly. “Cancer,” he managed to say.
“I know, dear. It’s horrible, isn’t it? Well, you stay strong and see if you can’t convince him, okay? Do you have my number? You can always call if you have questions or if you need someone to talk to.”
She reached across the space between their vehicles to hand him a business card. Tim took it and thanked her. Then he pulled into the driveway and stared at it. Lisa Ownby: Austin Heights Hospice Care. This couldn’t be right. Eric wasn’t sick. He was in great shape and full of life. Besides, he would have told Tim about something like this. Maybe they had only known each other for a month or two, but they were close. Weren’t they?
But Eric did have that cough he was always quick to dismiss. Tim knew all about keeping secrets, and the more he thought about it, the more the pieces fell into place. Marcello hadn’t been baiting Tim. He really had slipped up! And that hurt worse, because Marcello knew and Tim didn’t. Why would Eric trust a sleazebag like that instead of him? The thought angered him enough that he started the car so he could pull out and leave.
But he couldn’t. He was pissed and would tell Eric so.
Tim killed the engine and stormed to the front door, ringing the bell mercilessly. Then it opened and he saw Eric—appearing smaller and more fragile than usual against the light. Tim grabbed him into a hug.
“What in the world?” Eric said, voice strained. “Are you okay? Did things go badly with Marcello?”
“No,” Tim said, letting go. “I’m just hungry, is all.”
Eric’s gaze flickered over him with concern before he smiled. “You know I’m always good for a sandwich. Come in!”
Once in the kitchen, Tim watched Eric carefully, as if signs of his illness would be apparent now that he knew. But Eric seemed fine. Maybe that’s why he chose to hide it—because he could. Tim knew that game all too well. But it still hurt him that Marcello had Eric’s confidence and he didn’t.
“Do you trust me?” Tim asked.
Eric paused in the midst of buttering a slice of bread. “Of course!”
“I mean, I feel close to you. Like I can be open with you. I want you to feel the same way with me.”
Eric nodded, continuing his work in silence. Butter, lettuce, ham, cheese, mayo. Tim’s stomach growled in anticipation. He practically snatched the plate away from Eric when it was ready.
“He works his models hard, doesn’t he?” Eric looked him over. “I hope you weren’t put in any situations that made you uncomfortable.”
Tim shook his head while chewing.
“That’s good,” Eric said. “Marcello, for the bad impression he can make, is an absolute professional. He was one of Gabriel’s friends when we first met, and to be honest, I couldn’t stand him. I used to call him the Fat Man. You know, from the old Maltese Falcon movie?”
Tim shrugged.
“Anyway, first impressions aren’t everything. Marcello might not embrace traditional ideas of romance and relationships, but he cares about people in his own way.” Eric leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve known him for longer than you’ve been alive. Sometimes that much history alone can make you comfortable around a person.”
Comfortable enough to confide in him that you have a deadly disease. Tim broke eye contact and kept chewing. Truth be told, there were still plenty of things Eric didn’t know about him, little things that he preferred to keep to himself, like his painting. To anyone else, an interest like that wouldn’t be worth keeping secret, but Tim needed to because his art made him feel vulnerable. He could only imagine how cancer could make someone feel the same, but for very different reasons.
So Tim would pretend, if that’s what Eric wanted. But there were other things he needed to know, subjects he avoided to be polite. Marcello knowing Eric so well made Tim feel like he needed to catch up somehow.
“All that business with the fraternity—” Tim began, but he didn’t need to finish because Eric nodded.
“You want to know what really happened. Tell me, is that old gazebo still behind the fraternity house?”
Tim shook his head.
“I’m not surprised. It was practically falling down when I was your age. Anyway, there was someone in my life, another brother. We weren’t roommates like you and Travis are. That would have saved us a lot of trouble. Michael and I discovered each other anyway, and occasionally we managed to find private moments alone. Back then I was still willing to compromise. Those closest to me knew I was gay, as did my family, but it seemed prudent to keep a low profile.
“Michael and I were together for more than a year this way, and I have to admit our relationship being a secret made it all the more thrilling. Perhaps that’s why we became more and more daring. One evening, during a party at the fraternity house, we snuck out to the gazebo. The weather had been terrible, so everyone was staying in. Unfortunately, we got carried away and let down our guard. A young lady came outside and caught us in a compromising situation. Do you need me to—”
“No,” Tim said, his throat tight. “I can imagine.”
“Okay. Well, we heard the young lady gasp and scrambled to pull up our pants as she headed back to the house. We didn’t know how much she had seen, or if she recognized us. I wanted to leave, but Michael thought our absence would be twice as damning. Instead we returned through the front entrance and tried to mingle. When the young lady saw Michael, she looked right past him, not recognizing him. But when she saw me…”
“What happened?”
Eric exhaled. “It got ugly. There was no discretion. The brothers didn’t wait until later to discuss this with me. The party came to a grinding halt and suddenly I was on trial. I didn’t dare look at Michael. Doing so would have incriminated him. But I kept waiting for him to come to my defense. All the hateful things that were said that night, being pushed around, called names, even being thrown out on the street—none of that hurt as much as Michael turning his back on me. Afterwards he wouldn’t speak to me, privately or publically. Not a single word.”
“I’m sorry.” Tim hopped to his feet and went to Eric, his chest aching. The story was all too familiar. Hadn’t he hurt Ben in the very same way? “I’m sorry,” he repeated, speaking now to the past. Eric was in his arms, patting his back and reassuring him that it was okay, but it wasn’t. Giving into fear and turning away from love was never okay.