Chapter Two

He was awakened the next morning by his cell phone ringing right beside his head. Roger grabbed the offending thing more out of self-defense than out of any impulse to answer the call, but once he’d hit the button, he was committed. He put the phone to his ear.

“Hullo?”

Dwight’s brassy voice with its thick New Jersey accent nearly deafened him. “You could have told me about the accident!”

“Oh.” He could think of nothing better to say, so he left it at that.

“Oh? That’s all you’ve got? You could have ended your whole career with that stunt!”

He could imagine Dwight pacing around his office, flapping his arm while he talked, gesticulating as if he was a mime trying to sell an elephant. Roger rubbed his forehead with his fingertips as his headache roared to the fore.

“Sorry,” he managed. “I was upset and didn’t think…”

“Are you hurt?” his agent demanded. “Are you hurt? Did you break your fingers? Are your hands okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sound like hell.”

He sighed. “I’m hungover.”

There was stunned silence on the other end, and then Dwight came back. “Are you a drunk? Were you drunk when you hit that guy?”

“No and no. Don’t worry. I was drunk last night, but I’m not a drunk. And I was sober when I hit him.”

“I don’t need you to get into the rock and roll lifestyle before we even get you into rock and roll.”

Now he imagined Dwight stopping at his window. He envisioned him pulling his handkerchief out of his back pocket to mop the sweat on his upper lip and on top of his bald head.

“I won’t,” he promised. “Sorry. I just drank a bit last night and I was going to call you today about the accident. I didn’t think it mattered career-wise…”

“Ha! Do that again once you’re famous and we’ll see what does and doesn’t matter.” He heaved a heavy sigh, then said, “Anyway, you have two auditions today. One’s at two pm and the other’s at three. They’re both in the same part of town, so you can take a cab to Millhouse Street and get out at the 1800 block.”

He should have been writing it down, but he couldn’t find anything to write with, mostly because he didn’t look for anything. He stayed lying in his bed, his head still on his pillow, the covers pulled up to his chin.

“Okay. Right. Got it,” he lied.

“Don’t disappoint me, Roger,” Dwight warned. “I’ve got a lot of other clients I could be busting a hump for. Don’t make me regret doing this for you.”

He knew he was lucky to have him as his agent. Dwight was one of the best in the business at helping young musicians break in, and he normally had a very exclusive client list. He’d been a friend of Roger’s mother back in the eighties when he lived and worked in London. He’d taken him on as a favor to her, and Roger didn’t want to disappoint either of them.

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Good. Tell me how the auditions go.”

He put the phone aside and realized that he was smelling bacon. The aroma led him out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, where Mickey was standing over the stove. He’d fried up a whole pound of the stuff, and the smell was everywhere. Even in his current hungover state, it was enticing.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

Mickey looked up with a smile. His eyes were rimmed in red, but other than that, there were no signs that he’d been drinking the night before. “I figured we could both use some grease and carbs.”

“Since when do you eat grease and carbs?” he asked, sitting down heavily at the kitchen table.

His friend just laughed and put a plate in front of him. “Your timing is perfect, as usual. Here.”

The plate held bacon and pancakes, and Roger’s stomach half rumbled, half twisted at the thought of receiving the meal. He dug in.

“Did I do anything stupid last night?” he asked around mouthfuls. “This is really good, by the way.”

“I’m glad you like it. And no, you didn’t do anything stupid. Believe it or not, you made sure neither one of us did.” He turned off the stove and grabbed a piece of bacon. “I have to go. I have an afternoon rehearsal.”

“What time is it?”

Mickey grabbed his coat and headed out the door. “Read a clock.”

He looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was shaped like a cat, with a swinging tail and eyes that moved from side to side as the clock ticked. It was a little after noon, and he groaned. That two o’clock audition was probably not going to go very well.

***

The first audition was for a jazz group. There were three musicians, and they were looking for a bass player to help fill out their sound. They had him play his prepared piece, and then they had him jam with them, trying to see if he could improvise and keep up with them. They were accomplished and well acquainted with one another, and jazz wasn’t his chosen genre. By the time he left, everyone in the room agreed that he wasn’t a good fit for the job.

The second audition was a little more promising, but he wasn’t convinced. It was a rock band, which was good, but it was pretty clear that they were all using some sort of substance. Their manager tried to cover the fact that at least two of the band members were high as kites, but Roger knew the signs. He fit well with them musically, but the rest was a no-go. He’d worked with drugged-out musicians in the past, and it had been an unmitigated disaster. He wasn’t going there again.

He left the audition feeling discouraged. He called and told Dwight the bad news, then headed to a coffee shop to drink tea and pout. The place was quiet and had an almost Old-World feeling, which was comforting. He’d never admit it, but he missed Britain sometimes, especially on days when he wondered why he’d come to New York at all.

He was playing a stupid match-three game on his phone and getting irate at a difficult level when someone sat down at his table with him. He looked up in irritation, but that quickly changed to pleased surprise.

“Mind if I join you?” Officer Campbell asked.

“No! No, not at all. I’d be pleased. I mean, yes, by all means.” He took a deep breath to stop himself from prattling. “How are you, Officer?”

“Call me Dave.”

He smiled. “Okay. Dave it is.”

The policeman was out of uniform, and he looked even more like a male model than he had at the crash scene. He was in jeans that fit him so perfectly they must have been tailored. He had on a blue Henley under a weathered bomber jacket, and his hair was fixed just so. He smiled at Roger.

“How are you doing? You were pretty upset last night.”

He let out a short laugh. “Yes, well, I’d almost killed a man, so that’s a good reason to be a bit sideways, I think.”

“Sure.” Dave had a plastic cup, and he took a careful sip. “So, about that… I wanted to let you know that the guy you hit made it. He was actually released from the hospital this morning.”

Roger sagged in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“He has a broken leg and a concussion, but nothing permanent or life-threatening.” He smiled again. “I shouldn’t be telling you that much detail, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“Thank you for that. I’m so relieved!”

“I thought you might be.” He studied Roger’s face for a moment, his blue eyes thoughtful. He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, and he continued to chat. “So, how long have you been in the States?”

He put his phone away, no longer caring about games, or at least not games of the phone-based variety. “About three months, give or take. I’ve an American agent, you see, and he said that there were more opportunities for a musician like me here than back in Britain. I suppose he’s right, because I’ve certainly had a ton of auditions… just no call backs yet.”

Dave sat back in his chair, slouching casually with one leg straight out and the other knee bent. He effortlessly fell into poses that were perfect for photo shoots. The longer he saw him, the more Roger was convinced that he really was a model in his off time.

“You said you play bass guitar.”

He was pleased and flattered. “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.” Dave grinned at him, then shifted position to lean forward with his forearms on the table. “Actually… you were on my mind all night.”

Roger chuckled. “Because I was such a wreck, no pun intended?”

“No. Well, partially. It’s because…” He licked his lips with a quick pass of his tongue, a disarming flash of pink. “It’s because I find you really attractive.”

His first impulse was to pinch himself, because this had to be a dream. He stared at Dave in stunned silence, and Dave looked back, anxiety starting to make him flush. Finally, Roger was able to squeak, “Really?”

Dave smiled, obviously relieved. “Really.”

“I… I can’t believe you, of all people, are telling me this.”

He frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“You’re gorgeous. You could have anybody you want, and here you are, talking to me…”

Dave shook his head. “But I am talking to who I want.” He looked down at his cup, then back up and into Roger’s eyes. “As for having you… I’m open to that, too.”

He should have put on the brakes. He’d met this man less than twenty-four hours ago, and here he was, being propositioned. The truth was that he’d never been asked to bed by anyone as beautiful as Dave Campbell. Roger knew he wasn’t ugly, but Dave was so far out of his league that he never would have considered hitting on him.

“I… uh… Maybe that can be arranged.”

Dave grinned. “That’s great. Maybe… do you want to get out of here?”

“You mean… go now?”

“Well… yeah.”

He felt uneasy and excited at the same time. He couldn’t believe his luck. “Uh… oh, well… all right, then.”

Dave stood up and said, “My place is just down the block. It’s close, and I don’t have a roommate.”

“That’s probably good.”

He threw away the rest of his coffee and followed his companion out of the shop. They walked together, not touching, all the way to a gray stone building that had to be at least a century old. Dave opened the main door with a key, and then he led Roger upstairs to his apartment.

The place was probably very nice, but Roger never really paid it any attention. As soon as they were inside, Dave pushed him up against the closed door and kissed him passionately, overwhelming him with the speed and power of his approach. He was dominating, which had a certain appeal but also a certain terror. Roger was barely able to come up for air before his mouth was taken again.

They moved into the bedroom, discarding clothes as they went. Dave was completely in control, and Roger wasn’t certain how much he liked that, but it was too late now. He was turned on by the mad rush, and by the beauty of his partner, whose body was as exquisite as his face. He gave himself over to the passion.

Dave pushed Roger down onto the bed and kissed him forcefully, his hands grasping his wrists and pushing them into the mattress. He was ferocious, and Roger was overwhelmed. Desire and a giddy nervousness filled him, making him tingle.

He tingled even more when Dave moved down his body to take Roger’s cock in his mouth. He sucked him with a will, forceful and just shy of aggressive. Roger moaned in ecstasy.

“Oh, wow…” he managed to gasp. “You’re incredible.”

Dave took him in all the way, and the feeling of his throat and tongue was more than Roger could handle. He cried out and came hard, and his lover stayed with him through it all, taking what he gave and swallowing it down.

“My turn,” he said, his voice almost a growl. It was the sexiest thing that Roger had ever heard.

Dave rolled him onto his stomach, then leaned over him to reach into the bedside table. His erection, hot and hard, pressed against the small of Roger’s back, and he shivered in anticipation of what he was about to feel. He heard Dave open a condom, and then cold lubricant was squirted onto his eager opening. He gasped at the sudden chill, but then heat returned when Dave pressed inside.

He was large, and he knew how to use what he’d been given. He angled his movements so he hit Roger’s most sensitive spot with every thrust, and even though he’d already had one orgasm, he was well on his way to another before long.

He could feel Dave growing even harder inside of his body, preparing to burst. Roger arched his back toward him, giving him more access, his hand reaching back to grasp Dave’s thigh and encourage him to keep going.

Then it happened. “God,” he said, panting as he thrust, “I always wanted to fuck an Indian.”

Roger couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. It was a strange thing to say, as if he was just a conquest chosen for what he was instead of who he was. He pushed it out of his mind, though, because what his body was feeling was so much more pressing and more pleasurable than anything his mind could think. 

Dave came with a cry, and he collapsed onto Roger’s back. Roger, pinned and still impaled, lay still, but his new erection was crying out for release even as his mind was working overtime on what his partner had said.

His partner pulled out of him and discarded the condom, then came back to the bed. Roger rolled onto his back, and Dave settled beside him, kissing him and stroking him until he reached his second climax of the evening. As Roger spiraled back to earth in his afterglow, Dave rolled over and fell asleep.

Roger lay beside him for a long while. He didn’t know what to think. He’d never experienced something like this before, where the sex was good and bad at the same time. Conflicted and feeling used, he got dressed and left.

***

Mickey looked up at him when he came in. “You were out late. I hope that means the auditions went well.”

Roger shook his head and went straight into his room, where he ditched his clothes. He grabbed his bathrobe and headed for the shower. Mickey followed him, concerned.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out for Roger’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He stopped halfway into the bathroom and sighed. “I saw one of the officers from last night. He actually found me in a coffee shop. Turns out it was near his flat.”

“Okay…”

“He’s a gorgeous man, just beautiful, and he… he propositioned me.”

Mickey crossed his arms, concerned. “Go on.”

“I said yes, of course, because guys like these don’t show up just every day. And it was terrific, at least at first. Then he made a comment about Indians while we were having sex, and now I feel weird about it all.”

“What kind of comment?”

He sighed. “’God, I’ve always wanted to fuck an Indian.’” He leaned against the door jamb. “I feel like he picked me up to complete a collection, not that he really wanted me.”

His roommate put a hand on his shoulder. “Roger, listen. People say stupid things when they’re having sex. The closer to orgasm, the dumber the words. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything derogatory.”

“I don’t know. It was… weird.” He sighed. “It was like I was a thing, not a person, you know?”

Mickey nodded. “I know. I get objectified all the time. Guys hear I’m a dancer, and they want to know how flexible I am, you know?” He sighed. “Some guys are jerks, and some guys are idiots, and some guys, like us, have to put up with them. Look, you get your shower and I’ll make you a nice pot of tea when you come out.”

He smiled. “You’re too kind.”

“Yeah, once in a while that’s true.” Mickey smiled. “It’ll be okay. Anyway, you’ll probably never see him again.”

Roger sighed. “Yes. Let’s hope.”