The Light in Your Eyes

By Tinnean

Chapter 6

When Spike joined us, he'd still been new enough to the business that he enjoyed having sex with different men and getting paid for it. Both Paul and I had tried to make sure he didn't get the johns with a more… esoteric taste in sex.

I'd known that occasionally, after we got in from work, Spike would sleep in Paul's bed. I'd seen Paul's eyes when he looked at Spike, when he thought I wasn't watching him, and I'd hoped that he wasn't setting himself up for a world of hurt. He was ten years older than Spike and had that much more experience under his belt.

It turned out that even at his age, Spike knew the difference between fucking and making love. Before that vacation, he and Paul might have been friends with benefits, but when we came back from Disneyland, they were definitely lovers.

"Y'know what? Why don't you two take a few more days off?" I suggested, feeling slightly envious. This was as good as their honeymoon. "I'll deal with the traffic."

"Thanks, Sweets." Paul hugged me.

"Yeah, thanks." Spike kissed my cheek, grabbed Paul's hand, and dragged him off to the bedroom that would be theirs from now on.

****

There was some grumbling among the other stables when it was seen that we weren't taking in any more boys – I looked, but I just didn't have the energy or the ambition to screen them.

There was more grumbling that we wouldn't share the little black book Tim had been at such pains to compile, and which I'd long since transferred to a data CD, with back-ups just in case one was corrupted, scratched, or broken.

It came to a head at the annual Escort Ball on St. Patrick's Day, which was the one time all the high-end rentboys gathered. The weeks before were usually a riot of activity, as the election of the king of the escorts was held and all plans for the Ball were solidified.

The three of us arrived at the ballroom of the Madison Arms, dressed in our tuxes. Spike had come to us after the last ball, so for Christmas, Paul had had a tux custom-made for him, and while he'd worn it especially for Paul on that day, this was the first time he was wearing it in public. He was excited. Paul was excited for him.

I was bored.

The room was set up with cutouts of leprechauns and rainbows ending in pots of gold. The centerpieces on each table were bowls of shamrocks. Lush green draperies hung from all the windows.

The band was playing something fast and bouncy, and Paul let Spike drag him onto the dance floor. While they grooved to the music, I went looking for our table. I noticed we had been placed at some distance from the table where Le Roi, the title given to the man voted king of the escorts for the year, and his court would sit. Someone definitely wasn't pleased with us.

And I couldn't have cared less.

This year's Le Roi, who went by the professional name of Charlemagne, was a muscled redhead with movie star looks. The stable he ran provided boys who resembled – or who had surgery to enhance what had started out as a minimal resemblance – some of Hollywood's most notable stars. They were handsome and skilled, and Paul had been insulted on Spike's behalf that no attempt had ever been made to recruit our youngest rentboy away from us, but I'd found them to be some of the most snobbish, elitist boys I'd ever rubbed up against.

Charlemagne and I had fucked once, before I realized that there was nothing behind his dazzling façade that I wanted on a regular basis. I'd turned down his subsequent request for a repeat encounter, and that had pissed him off. He was the one to end things, not the recipient of his attention, who should have been uttering prayerful thanks for being selected in the first place.

Le Roi sought me out, which surprised me. Considering the placement of our table, I would have thought he'd do everything in his power to emphasize the fact that we weren't in favor with the current king and his court.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries dipped in venom that would have done the Medici proud, he got to the heart of the matter.

"You've got all those names, and there's just the three of you. You have to spread the wealth among the rest of us."

"I'll give it some thought." As reluctant as I was to concede him anything, he did have a point. I'd call Tim and see what he thought of the idea.

"Do that." He bared his perfect white teeth in what only the most optimistic would deem a smile. His eyes ran over me in a way that left me naked, and he turned away, the curl of his lip giving the impression that what he had seen left him limp.

I knew the truth of the matter though. The heat in his eyes had revealed it. He still wanted me, and he wasn't happy that he did.

I smothered a yawn. Well, that was his problem.

"What was that about?" Paul and Spike, flushed and grinning, came up behind me.

"The natives are getting restless. They think we're hogging the best of the johns, and they want us to share."

"What are we going to do?"

I shrugged. "Right now, I'm going to have a strawberry daiquiri. What do you feel like?"

"My usual." That would be a Brandy Alexander. "What do you want, baby?"

"Um…" Spike looked excited. He still had a hard time believing that although he was under legal drinking age, no one in this room would deny him anything. "Can I have Sex on the Beach?"

One of the boys at our table overheard. "I'll give you sex anywhere you want it, sugar buns." And he leered at Spike.

Spike flushed. Paul moved him to stand between us. "I think we'll come up to the bar with you, Sweets."

"Good idea. It looks like they forgot to have the exterminators in before they set up for this affair."

The instigator made as if to rise from his seat, but the escort sitting next to him put his hand on his shoulder, restraining him. "Let it go, Jay."

Jay scowled but subsided.

When we returned from the bar, Paul sat Spike between us.

The boys at our table made a point of excluding us from their conversations, but when Paul and I spoke to each other, I could see they strained to overhear what we were saying. Did they think we'd drop names?

I shook my head. The appetizer, soup, and salad courses were done – I'd been given spring rolls instead of shrimp cocktail, vegetable barley soup instead of French onion, and Russian dressing instead of vinaigrette – and the entrées brought out. I poked at the prime rib that had been one of the choices for entrée. I'd requested it medium rare. This was so rare I was expecting it to moo.

"They got that wrong too?" Paul scowled.

The waiter flushed, and his eyes darted to Jay's, who pretended he hadn't seen. I shook my head again. I wasn't surprised to find he was behind my selections being changed. It was the petty sort of thing he'd do. And he'd leave the waiter swinging in the wind.

"I'll exchange your order, sir." The waiter reached for my plate.

"Don't bother." I could picture someone spitting in my food or doing worse. "I've lost my appetite."

"Jesus, if they want you to share the names so badly, you'd think they'd know it was in their own best interest to be nice to you, Sweets." Paul's voice was loud enough to be heard at the tables that surrounded ours.

"Y'know what, Pretty Boy? I'm not in the mood to party. I'm going home."

"Y'know what? Me too. Come on, Spike."

"Why don't you leave sugar buns here with us? We'll show him a real good time." Jay waggled his eyebrows salaciously.

"Give it a break, why don't you?" I was so tired of this bullshit.

He got to his feet so abruptly his chair tipped over. "Why don't you stay the fuck out of it? He's got a tongue. He can talk for himself."

"Spike?" If it was what he wanted, Paul would have no choice but to let him stay. We'd both been protective of our youngest rentboy – somehow, at Spike's age, we'd been so much older – but we couldn't be there for him always.

Spike tucked his hand into Paul's arm. "If I want to be shown a good time, I don't have to go any further than my own back yard."

"You're not in Kansas, Toto."

"Spike, Junk." Everyone knew that Jay's name was actually the initial of his favorite recreational drug. "My name is Spike." He sent a smile around the table. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

"Yeah. Uh… goodnight, gentlemen." Paul and I contained our grins until we turned away.

"When did you get to be so sharp, baby?"

"I've always been. You were just so busy looking out for me, you didn't pay attention. Are we going to say goodnight to Le Roi?"

"I supposes it pays to be politic." I went up to the main table. "You'll have my decision in a few days, Le Roi."

"You're leaving? I hope it wasn't something I said."

In his dreams. I bared my teeth in a smile that was as false as his and left, Paul and Spike on my heels.

"Well, that was a waste of a perfectly good occasion to get dressed up."

"Why don't you two go dancing? It's still early, and none of our johns will be calling tonight." They all knew that on the night of the Escort Ball, none of us would be available.

"What do you say, baby?"

Spike rubbed his cheek against Paul's shoulder. "I'd like that. We've never gone dancing, and that was the one thing I was really looking forward to tonight. Well, that and putting names to all the faces I've heard you mention."

"What did you think of them?"

"They're all so old!"

Paul and I exchanged startled glances. "Most of them are younger than us."

"Are they? They seem so much older."

"Don't let them hear you saying that. The plastic surgeons in this area will be mobbed. Come on, baby. I'll take you to the Bee's Knees. You sure you don't want to come along, Sweets?"

"Y'know something? I think I will." Who knew? Maybe I'd even find someone to hook up with for the night. It had been forever since I'd had sex for the fun of it.

The Bee's Knees wasn't an escort hangout, so we wouldn't be recognized as high-end escorts. It had been opened years ago, around the time of Stonewall, and catered to the gay population of the DC area. The men's room had the usual row of urinals, but it also had more stalls than the average men's room, and they were large enough to hold two.

I didn't have sex, but I did have fun. I flirted and danced, and danced and flirted, and cute guys wanted to buy me drinks.

"You're not getting blitzed, are you, Sweets?" Paul whispered.

"Nope! I'm just very, very relaxed."

"If you say so."

"Paul, they're playing our song!"

I blinked. 'Smokin' in the Boys Room'? Paul grinned and shrugged and let Spike drag him back onto the dance floor.

I shook my head and turned back to the cute guys at the bar. I thought about making out with one or two of them, but even so… relaxed… my eyes were crossing, I knew better than to do that.

Paul and Spike finally came up to me, laughing. "I think it's time to take you home, Sweets."

"Hey, no! He promised me this dance!" A tall guy wearing a GWU sweatshirt had his arms wrapped around me.

"Some other time, maybe. Paul says I have to go home now." I kissed his cheek. "Thanks for a wonderful evening, baby. Toodles."

"Toodles?" Paul snickered as he hailed a cab and poured me into it. "Oh, Sweets, I am never letting you live this down!"

"Live what down?" I blinked at him. "Are you laughing at me, Paul?" I enunciated each word clearly.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sweets." He coughed. "Move over so Spike can get in."

"Okay." I moved over, then curled up against him and began to doze. It seemed like almost immediately a hand was shaking my shoulder.

"Come on, Sweets."

"Five more minutes."

"We're home."

"Oh. Kay." I crawled out of the cab and onto the sidewalk.

"Here we go." Paul and Spike each took an arm and hoisted me to my feet, making sure I stayed on them and didn't topple over as we headed up the stairs to our apartment.

My feet kept trying to tangle and trip me, but my good friends – god, they were my best friends – kept me upright.

"You guys're the best, y'know that?" I sniffled, planting a wet kiss on Paul's cheek, and then doing the same to Spike's.

Paul patted my shoulder. "We know, Sweets." They got me to my room.

I shrugged off their hands. "I can walk on my own two feet."

"You sure?"

"'m sure." I waved them off, and once they saw I was aimed in the right direction, they disappeared, presumably into their own room. I wove across the floor, shedding my tux and leaving the pieces to lie where I dropped them, and fell face forward across my bed.

****

I woke up so hung over I wanted to shoot myself. My head pounded, there was a sour taste in my mouth, and my stomach kept trying to project itself out of my throat. Sometime during the time we'd spent at the Bee's Knees, I'd switched from strawberry daiquiris to 7&7s. How many 7&7s had I had?

I managed to stagger into the kitchen.

Paul was pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Jesus, you look awful!"

"Don't mock the afflicted," I groaned and sat at the table. "Even my eyelashes hurt! Why did you let me drink so much?"

"But you were having such a good time." He laughed at my glower, but was kind enough to muffle his laugh when I winced at the sound. "Sweets, the only way to get that glass out of your hand would have been to break your fingers."

I folded my arms on the table and buried my head in them. "Next time, I give you permission to break my fingers. That has to be less painful than my head right now."

"There, there, little buckaroo."

"Bastard. And how come you aren't in the same shape as I am?"

"Around midnight Spike and I switched to Cokes. Everyone thought we were drinking Cuba Libres and didn't bust our chops." He put a couple of ibuprofen in front of me, and a glass of orange juice.

"You could have told me." I downed the pills and the juice, and for a second wasn't sure if they'd stay down. When it seemed that they would, I sighed in relief and asked, "Where is our little ray of sunshine, anyway?"

"He's out on a 'date'."

I groaned again. "I can't see anyone today. I'm calling in sick."

"We don't have sick days, Sweets."

"Fine. Then I'm calling in dead."

He patted my shoulder. "Why don't you go back to bed? We'll hold down the fort."

"You'll have to. The johns wouldn't like it if I threw up all over them. I'm going back to bed." I staggered to my room, pulled the covers over my head, and prayed I would die.

It was around 9 that evening when I woke again, this time feeling like I just might live. There was a note for me on the kitchen table.

I'm not as good a cook as you, Sweets, but anyone can follow the directions on a box. I made you a pot of chicken noodle soup. Nuke it and have it with some crackers. I looked in on you a couple of times, but you were dead to the world. I picked up your tux and had 'our little ray of sunshine' take it to the cleaners. Shame on you! It's a wrinkled mess. Spike and I are working a double with the girls downstairs. We'll see you in the morning. Toodles. Paul

Toodles? Was he out of his mind?

I took a shower, had a couple more ibuprofen to be on the safe side, and ate the soup while I watched television. After Jay Leno finished, I caught up on some bookkeeping, then went to bed.

****

I called Tim the next day and explained the situation.

"Who's Le Roi this year?"

"Charlemagne."

"I don't know the name."

"He came in after you'd left."

"Do I detect a note of dislike?"

I should have known he would pick up on it. "Tim, he's one of the handsomest men in town, period, full stop. The first time I saw him… " I wasn't going to mince matters. "I wanted him. And I was flattered that he wanted me. The thing is, he felt the same way, that I should be flattered because he wanted me."

"He doesn't think much of himself, does he?"

"You've got that right. Anyway, I realized I'd made a mistake and left as soon as I could. He called a few days later, said he wanted to see me again."

"And you turned him down."

"Yeah. He wasn't happy about it… " I wasn't going to go into detail about just how unhappy he'd been about it. The… affair… would have ended sooner or later, but he* would have been the one to end it. "… but he didn't make a big deal over it. If anyone wanted details, I'd give them a look and ask why they wanted to know."

"Ah. The old Dear Abby gambit." I could almost see his nod.

"Yeah. And I heard Charlemagne would tell 'em that everyone knew rentboys weren't built for relationships and happily ever after."

"Bullshit."

"It's no skin off my nose if they want to believe him."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm a big boy."

"But this happened, when? Ten years ago?"

"I was a big boy then. I didn't need you coming to my rescue. You're Cris' white knight, Tim, not mine."

"You never were as young as you looked. I wish… " He sighed.

"Me too, but things are the way they are, and wishing isn't going to change them. Anyway… "

He let me change the subject. "So Charlemagne isn't your biggest fan. What happened at the Ball?"

"I've been hearing rumbles, but on Sunday he actually made a demand. Well, he probably would have called it a request. One of his gripes is that it's just the three of us."

"Are you planning on taking in any more boys, Sweets?"

"I've looked around, but it's been a real hassle lately, Tim." I didn't like the defensive note in my voice, and I cleared my throat. "All they seem to want is money for drugs."

"That was always a problem."

"It didn't seem to be until just recently."

"You sound like you're getting burned out, Sweets."

"Maybe I am. I don't know what to do."

"Have you given any thought to getting out of the business? You've got the property, and you should have enough to live on comfortably."

"Yeah. And I've got my accounting degree, and Paul has his nursing license. In a pinch we could fall back on those. The thing is, we've been doing this for so long."

"Twelve years now, right? That's way longer than the average rentboy. Longer than Cris and I. Why don't you give each of your clients a call, explain the situation, and see how they feel?"

"I guess so. We don't want to shut down – if we do shut down – leaving any hard feelings."

"I'm glad you see it that way."

"That's why you put me in charge."

"Wise guy. Let me know how it goes."

"I will."

We talked a bit longer.

"How's your new place in Savannah?"

"It's good. Better than Atlanta. The Always Reddy Pub. Cris named it. Can you believe that?"

"Clever." Reddy was Tim's last name.

"Yeah. My boy surprised me. So when are you coming down to see us?"

"Probably in a few weeks. After spring break definitely."

"I'll hold you to that, Sweets." I could hear his name called. "I've gotta go. Take care of yourself now."

"You too. Hi to Cris."

We said goodbye and hung up.

Paul was out. I'd talk to him about it when he got in, and we'd see where we went from there.

I took a late call and was out all night, and when I returned the next morning, he was sleeping. I went right to bed.

When we finally talked it over, Paul agreed with Tim that we should let our clients make the call. "We really can't take care of them all any more."

"And who they fuck probably won't make much difference to them one way or the other. They'll have a hole to stick their pole in."

"Whoa! Someone is getting burnt out, isn't he?"

I scowled. That was twice in the same week someone had said that to me.

He studied my face, then came to me and hugged me. "I'm sorry I teased you, Sweets. I've got Spike to get me through the rough patches, but you're alone."

I shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

"It'll be okay, Sweets." He ran his palm up and down my back. "You'll find someone some day."

"Sure, Paul." I wouldn't, but I closed my eyes and let him comfort me.

****

The beginning of the end started on an ordinary day, with an ordinary phone call.

"Mark Vincent has spoken very highly of your services, of your discretion, and I'm willing to pay to have the best."

"Where are you? Spike is on call… " He looked up from the comic book he was reading. "… and I can have him there… "

"Oh, no, no! Vincent recommended Pretty Boy. He recommended him very highly. I'll pay double his fee. Triple."

"Don't get your panties in a bunch." I shook my head, and Spike went back to Alien vs. Predator.

"Oh, no, I must insist. Vincent has told me such wonderful things. I'm quite sure I'll get my money's worth."

"You will. Pretty Boy is excellent. For that amount, you'll have him for the entire afternoon…"

"I'll only need him for an hour or so."

"Okay." If this john wanted to pay that much, I wasn't going to discourage him. I scribbled down the amount on a pad and showed it to Paul. His eyebrow rose in surprise, and he nodded enthusiastically. "However, I'm afraid we no longer have gentlemen here in our apartment… "

"No, no, I understand; that's quite all right. I have a room here at… " He gave me the name of a motel that wasn't part of a chain.

I wrote it down. "And where is that?" He told me. "Just a second, please." I covered the phone. "Paul, I'm not sure about this neighborhood."

"It can't be any worse than ours." He grinned. "For three times what I usually get I'd go to the Black Hole of Calcutta."

"If you're sure… Okay. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," I said into the phone. "Pretty Boy will be there in three quarters of an hour."

"Splendid, splendid. I'll be in room 227."

I jotted it down. "And your name, sir?"

"Oh, of course. How forgetful of me. My name is Michael Shaw." He laughed softly. "Yes, Michael Shaw. Good day, young man."

"You believe him about the name, Sweets?" Paul asked when I gave him the slip of paper with the address.

"No. What I'll believe are his fifteen Benjamin Franklins. Get prettied up. I'm going with you."

The motel was clean enough, though. We went up to the second floor room and knocked on the door.

The man who opened it was probably in his late 40s, maybe early 50s. His brown hair, while thinning, was neatly styled, and he wouldn't have been bad-looking except for the grooves that cut into each side of his mouth, pulling it down.

Michael Shaw wasn't pleased to see me. Maybe that was what gave his mouth the petulant twist. "I only wanted… "

"Yes, sir. I'm aware of that." I was polite in spite of the fact that this man made me grit my teeth. There were some johns like that.

There was an open bottle of Dewars on the dresser. Beside it were two glasses with a healthy amount of the liquor in them. Pretty Boy never drank much when he was on the clock. He exchanged glances at me and gave a slight nod. He'd stay alert. He knew how to make a drink last, and there was an artificial plant in the corner. He could water it if he had to.

"If you'll give me the agreed upon-sum, Mr. Shaw, I'll leave you to get to know Pretty Boy."

"Oh, you're his pimp?" He smirked and seemed to relax, and I didn't bother correcting his mistaken impression. He shoved the bills at me. "Here."

I thumbed through them quickly, then tucked them into my pocket and forced myself to smile at him. "Enjoy your time together."

Pretty Boy was already taking the condoms out of the fanny pack he'd unfastened from around his waist. He put them and the tube of lubricant on the nightstand. Then he reached for the top button of his shirt.

"What would you like me to call you?"

"Michael. Michael is fine."

"What's your pleasure, Michael?" he was asking as I pulled the door shut behind me.

I went down to the small lobby on the ground floor to wait. I'd brought a deck of cards with me to pass the time, but there was a newspaper on a chair. I'd read the paper instead.

I sat down and opened it to the horoscopes. I was a Capricorn.

You are valued by your friends. That was nice to know. Love will turn up where you least expect it. Yeah, right.

I looked for the advice column.

Dear Abby,

I walked into my son's bedroom to find him kissing his best friend. Hadn't the woman ever heard of knocking? Does this mean he's gay? What did she think? His father is furious and blames me. Sure. He had nothing to do with it. Where did I go wrong? How could my son do this to me? What do I do now?

Heartbroken mom

"Shoot your bastard of a husband, lady, and throw a coming out party for your son."

Unfortunately, Dear Abby didn't agree with me. She recommended counseling for the whole family.

I turned to the comics and read Peanuts and Blondie, For Better or For Worse and Pickles.

This newspaper had a cryptoquote on the same page as the comics, just above the crossword puzzle. I took a pen from my pocket and began working it. It turned out to be an obscure quote by Edgar Alan Poe.

Before I realized it, more than an hour had passed. Paul should have been down by now. I left the paper on the chair, went to the manager's office, and tapped on the open door. "Excuse me."

Sitting at the desk was a young man. He was cute, and on the desk in front of him was a physiological chemistry textbook. A college man. I'd always had a weakness for college men. For a moment I regretted I hadn't spent the time flirting with him. Another time, perhaps.

"Would you mind calling room 227? My friend was supposed to meet me in the lobby, but he can be so absentminded." I smiled at him, the smile that was guaranteed to get me extra bucks.

"Sure." He smiled back and reached for the phone. After a minute, he frowned. "Are you sure that's the right room number? There's no… "

I was out of the little office and bolting for the stairs before he could finish. There could be any number of reasons why the phone kept ringing, I told myself as I took the stairs two and three at a time. They could have fallen asleep... They could be in the shower... Pretty Boy could have his mouth full...

I didn't believe any of them.

tbc