A Barlow Lens (6 page)

“Interesting way to write down the names of what looks like couples,” Val pointed out.

Wyatt nodded. “Sure is. Another interesting fact: that school fire happened in September of '27.”

 

 

Cleveland, Ohio—1927

 

T
OM
OPENED
the door to the diner and quickly went through, pulling it closed behind him and trying not to let the torrential rain inside. He shook off the water and shrugged out of his overcoat and his hat, hanging both on the rack near the door. After taking only two steps toward the counter, he changed direction and slipped into a booth. He picked up a menu and pretended to read while he watched Philip and Emma at the counter.

“There ain't no way you can throw my brother in jail,” Emma leaned over the counter and hissed. “Why is it important now, after all these years?”

“'Cause I was never up for a promotion before,” Philip grumbled. “I ain't going to chase him or rat him out, but if I see him doin' something suspicious, I'm going to hafta do what's right. Can I have a refill?”

Emma huffed and turned away. She moved down the counter to other customers and took a few orders before returning to Philip with a second cup that she plunked down next to the first cup.

“Thanks,” Philip mumbled after both cups were filled with coffee so hot Tom could see them steaming from where he sat. Grabbing a newspaper, Philip stuffed it under one arm and took a coffee cup in each hand as he swung off the stool and ambled toward Tom's table. He slid into the booth opposite Tom, slapped the paper on the table, set the cups down hard enough they rattled on the saucers, and grumbled some words that were definitely not gentlemanly.

Tom smiled and pulled his cup and the newspaper closer. He opened the paper, folded it, and laid it on the table, glancing over the articles. At that time of day, the diner was filled primarily with men on their way to work, or coming off the night shift from one of the factories. Most were single, and this diner was where they took their meals. The counter and booths were often populated by several men sitting together, eating their meals and discussing whatever the
Cleveland Press
published that day.

As long as Philip and Tom played the game and looked like every other fella, no one would ever know they were anything more than casual buddies.

“Morning,” Tom said and sipped his coffee.

“It's raining,” Philip groused.

Tom glanced out the window. “Yes, I noticed that right away when I was outside.” He kicked the bottom of Philip's foot under the table.

There was a new waitress working with Emma this morning and she came over with plates. “Emma says you fellas always get the same thing, but she didn't bother telling me who wants what.”

“Eggs and bacon,” Philip said and held up his hand. “Thank you.”

Tom moved the paper to one side. “Short stack and sausage.”

As they ate, they exchanged small talk, greeted some of the other regulars who came in and took their customary places. Tom wondered, even though he'd never seen any of them at the Canary, how many were doing the exact same thing as Philip and him.

Philip finished off his breakfast and slurped down the rest of his coffee. He tossed some money on the table. “Sorry, I hafta start early today. Emma's ma keeps askin' me to supper. I ran out of excuses.”

“She seems like a nice girl,” Tom said. He smirked and swirled his sausage around in maple syrup. “I'm sure she's a fine cook, too.” Neither was interested in women, but that didn't mean they could avoid marriage.

“Yeah.” Philip stood up and turned so he blocked the view of anyone who might glance in their direction at the wrong time. “Promotion means some extra time off now and again.” He held a piece of paper between two fingers.

Tom took the paper, read it, and stuffed it in a pocket. He dropped his voice to a whisper and arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I
know
Emma will appreciate that.”

Philip glared for a split second before he chuckled, rubbed the back of his neck, and shook his head. “She'd better. Don't let your kids talk back to you.” He put his hat on and tapped the top.

Tom picked up the paper and held it so he could watch as Philip walked down the sidewalk. It was a good thing he didn't have to be to the school for another half hour. The thought of seeing Philip at the Canary two nights a week had given him an instant boner.

Finally the day dawned that they'd be meeting. The morning had started out damp, but not the thunderstorms of a few days ago. He fidgeted through his workday. The school year was drawing to a close, so fortunately Tom could keep his students occupied for the last half of the day with cleaning the classroom and helping him pack away things for the summer.

That evening he headed out for the Canary. That night he carried something he hoped would be as special to Philip as it was to Tom. He made sure he arrived well before their normal time and told Billy he'd be waiting behind the building.

The morning's foul weather had cleared, and there was a bright blue, nearly cloudless sky above and calm waters on Lake Erie below. Behind the speakeasy was a terrace that gave way to grass. The entire property was surrounded by large shrubs and pine trees that blocked the view from the road. There were no other buildings for at least a half mile in either direction. A steep hill rolled down to a small strip of sand, then to the edge of the lake.

It was warm enough to be comfortable not wearing any coat. The air was clean and sweet, a perfect evening.

“What are you doing back here?” Philip crossed the terrace and was walking through the grass to Tom. He wore lightweight trousers that showed the outline of his thighs. The bulge of his biceps were barely covered by the white, short sleeves of his shirt. Philip's jacket was hooked on one finger and slung over his shoulder.

Tom's heart skipped happily to a faster pace. Philip walked right up to him, slipped his free arm around Tom's waist, and pulled him hard against Philip's body. Tom put both arms around Philip's waist. Without preamble, Philip bent his head, kissing Tom. Almost right away their tongues were slipping over one another.

When their kiss broke, they were both breathing hard and Philip's neck glistened in the setting sunlight, covered with a fine mist of sweat. “Oh God, I—” Tom exhaled.

Still holding him, Philip rested his forehead against Tom's. “Me too. Every time we sit in that damn diner, I feel like I'll bust open from wanting to just have you then and there. Slide under the table and suck and suck.” Tom shuddered and moaned. Philip kept talking. “What is all this?” he asked, gesturing at the items Tom had set up.

“Huh? Telescope. I thought we could look at stars.” Tom looked up. He widened his stance, making room for Philip's thigh between his, and rocked in Philip's arms. The feeling of rock hard muscle between Tom's legs, an equally hard chest to press against, and strong arms holding him made his head spin. Philip licked along Tom's neck, and he groaned and dropped his head back. He dug into the heavy muscle of Philip's back with his fingers.

Between kisses, Philip observed, “It won't be dark enough to see the stars for an hour at least.” He dropped to his knees, opened Tom's pants and pulled them down. Next he pushed up Tom's shirt and licked lightly at one of Tom's nipples. Tom's hands moved to Philip's shoulders, desperately hanging on.

“B-blanket.” Tom let go of Philip with one hand long enough to wave behind him. “Billy said he'd—” The rest of his words cut off when Philip's mouth sucked on the head of Tom's cock.

Philip held Tom up easily when his knees buckled. Tom had always had a slight build, and the way Philip practically surrounded him with his big hands and body was exciting beyond Tom's wildest dreams. Philip's fingers pressed behind Tom's ball sack, and he felt cool, silky cream being worked around and into him.

Entire body quivering, Tom nearly collapsed when Philip pulled away only long enough to help him completely out of his clothes. Philip nudged him backward to the blanket. He took Tom's legs out from under him, turning him so he faced the blanket and eased him onto his knees, bent over, one arm around Tom's chest, holding them tightly together. The other hand gripped Tom's cock, stroking in time with every thrust of his powerful hips.

The first time was always fast, hard, and desperate. Particularly after waiting so many days. Later would come the slow passion when they took a back room inside the Canary.

After night descended, Tom pointed out constellations and showed Philip his favorite views through his telescope.

“Emma's ma said she expects me for dinner again next week,” Philip said. He wouldn't quite meet Tom's gaze. “I'll probably hafta marry her eventually.”

Tom nodded. He didn't like it, but there was nothing he, or Philip, could do about it. “I know. We'll make do. Just like now.”

“I wish—Tom, I don't—you didn't grow up in that neighborhood. Certain people, they expect….” He hung his head. “I'm sorry.”

“I grew up in
a
neighborhood. Same thing all over. Nothing we can do about it. Like I said, we'll make do.”

Philip put his arm around Tom's waist again and tugged him closer, nuzzling his neck. “It's getting chilly out here. Pack it up and go in, have a drink and some of Billy's sandwiches?”

Tom turned and kissed Philip, then smiled. “You bet.”

They gathered everything up and walked back to the speakeasy. As they went inside, Philip's arm tightened around Tom and he blew in Tom's ear. Tom burst out laughing, almost dropping the case his telescope was in.

There were two stools at the bar, and Billy waved to them. “Lovely night, eh, honeys?” he said and set a plate of sandwiches between them.

Tom felt a blush work over his cheeks, and he looked down at the bar top. “It is. Thank you.”

“Honey, it was my pleasure. It gives me the tingles
everywhere
when someone wants to use the terrace. What can I get you boys to wet your whistle?”

“Got any of that stuff from Kentucky?” Philip asked. His hand didn't slide from Tom's back until they were both seated.

Women laughing and giggling made Tom swivel on his stool and scan the speakeasy. There were a few couples seated at the tables, some men, some women. “Oh, crap, I think I know her.”

“So?” Philip took a sip of whiskey and shrugged. “What do you keep telling me? If we see someone we know here, they're here for the same reason as us. They can't rat us out without doing it to themselves.”

“Uh-huh,” Tom mumbled.

“I told Emma something was up with you two,” a familiar, feminine voice said from behind Tom. At the same time, a hand landed softly on his shoulder.

Philip's glass clunked onto the bar, and he straightened. The new waitress at the diner, Nancy, cocked her head to one side and smiled. She was all dolled up and a real looker.

“You never really figured out why Emma hasn't pushed to get married to you like her mamma does?” Nancy asked Philip. He sat there, not saying anything, with a decidedly stunned expression on his face. Tom would have laughed had he not been so surprised as well. He twisted even farther around on the stool, looking over the bar.

Emma picked up two drinks and walked over to take her place beside Nancy. “We came up with a plan,” she said to Philip. “Will get Mamma off both our backs, and all of us can go out and have fun.”

Tom and Philip looked at one another, and Tom said, “We're listening.”

 

T
OM
SAT
in the diner, watching out the window. He used a damp towel to wipe his neck off and silently cursed the recent bout of heat and humidity rolling through Cleveland.

Philip nodded to him through the window and stopped to let two older ladies pass him up. One paused and exchanged a few words with him, patting his forearm before continuing down the street. Tom smiled. Ladies of all ages seemed to adore Philip, and Tom found that very funny.

“Christ, I'm going to melt pounding the pavement today,” Philip said as he slid into the booth opposite Tom. He set his uniform hat on the bench beside him and gulped the glass of water Tom eased across the table. “Thanks. Why are you sitting over here?” He looked around the diner at the same time he talked. “Oh.”

“Emma said it would be best if we weren't at the counter. She seemed a bit upset, and I didn't want to argue,” Tom said. “Who is that?” He dipped his head to the man sitting at the counter.

Emma was rushing from customer to customer, though there was no reason for it that Tom could see. The man would put his hand out, trying to stop her whenever she walked by. They would exchange a few words, and from the expression Emma wore, Tom guessed the words were not pleasant.

“Archie. Emma's brother. I didn't know he was back in town,” Philip said quietly.

“You don't like him very much.”

Philip shook his head. “He's a year older than me. Archie started disappearing for months at a time not too long before the war. Sometimes he shows up with a wad of cash bigger than my fist, and the next time he won't have shoes. Drives his mamma crazy. He's got scars that look like they're from bullets and says he fought in the war. I think he was bootlegging, robbing banks and trains. If you ask me, Archie ain't nothin' but trouble. And a coward to boot.” He sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I don't want to talk about him. How did your first day at City Blue go?”

Tom smiled. “It was good. I worked there in college, too.” It warmed him to know that Philip remembered the summer employment Tom had with the large print company in downtown Cleveland. He stiffened as Archie left his stool at the counter and walked to their table.