Belonging (2 page)

“No, because I bet anything you’d
start showing up at nine-oh-eight if we did that.”

“Let’s test it out. Meet me at
nine-oh-four tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. It’s bad enough
that we work out six days a week. We’re not making it
seven.”

“You know you love it.”

“Um, no. Him, however,” he said,
tilting his head toward a beefy jock across the room, bench
pressing the equivalent of a Buick, “I would gladly love, for about
an hour.”

“Why is it that every guy you’ve ever
pointed out to me looks like he used to beat up gay kids for fun in
high school, in between failing Algebra and getting his brains
scrambled inside his football helmet?”

“Don’t stereotype.”

“But really.”

“Meanwhile, your taste in sex partners
is freaking awesome,” he told me. I shot him a look as we stepped
onto side-by-side elliptical trainers and he added, “Have you ever
actually dated anyone your own age?”

“Yeah, you. Look how that turned
out.”

“We didn’t really date. You had me in
the bro category before we even made it to the entree.”

“And rightfully so. We’re far too
alike, we would have ended up hating each other if we’d pursued a
romantic relationship.” As I was talking, I adjusted a few settings
on the machine, then grasped the handles and began moving at a
steady pace.

“Have you ever asked yourself why
you’re attracted to people old enough to be your—” I cut him off
with a sharp look and he finished with, “Fine, I won’t say it. So,
how’s this? Old enough to trip most twenty-somethings’ ick meters.”
When I frowned at him, he flashed me a smile wide enough to bring
out his single dimple.

“I just feel better with older
partners, that’s all,” I muttered embarrassedly.

“Because you don’t think someone in
their twenties would take care of you?”

“It could happen, but it’s pretty damn
rare. My friend Christian found it, he’s engaged to this amazing
guy who’s totally there for him. But his fiancé Shea is one in a
million.”

“That’s your friend that’s undergoing
chemo, right?” Yosh asked as he dialed up the resistance on his
elliptical trainer. When I nodded he said, “So I was right, you do
want a caretaker.”

“Not a caretaker.” I flailed for a way
to explain it to Yosh and finally settled on, “I just...I guess I
want someone who makes me feel safe.”

He jumped gracefully off his machine
and pulled me off mine, then clutched me in a bear hug. “What are
you doing?” I asked as I stood there rigidly.

“You sounded so vulnerable all of a
sudden. Whenever I see that side of you, it makes me want to
squeeze you.”

“Dude, people are staring.”

“It’s a gay gym, Gi. Nobody cares if
two guys are hugging each other.”

“They don’t care that two
guys are hugging, they care that
anybody
is hugging. You’re bringing
down the butch factor in here big time.”

“Tough.”

I frowned and asked, “How long are you
planning to keep this up?”

“Until you hug me back, dumbass.” I
sighed and gave him a split second embrace. He didn’t let go. “Hug
fail! Do it for real. Let me feel the love!”

“But I hate you right now.”

“Come on. Do it! Don’t make me resort
to drastic measures.”

“Such as?” I asked.

“I could bust out a nice, loud
rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings to enhance the moment. I know
how much you love that song.”

“Oh my God, don’t!”

Yosh chuckled at that. “Only one way
to stop it. Schmaltzy ballad in three...two....”

“You suck so bad,” I said as I put my
arms around him.

“Not true. I’m actually incredibly
proficient at it. You’d know that if you’d made it past the
entree.” I chuckled at that as I let go of him, and he let go too,
finally.

“I don’t even know what I said to make
you go all grabby.”

He reached up and brushed my bangs out
of my eyes. “Sometimes I’m reminded that there’s a little puppy
beneath all this pretty.”

“A puppy,” I repeated
flatly.

Yosh nodded. “Even after all these
years, I still believe the packaging sometimes: confident,
pulled-together Gianni Dombruso, man without a care. But every now
and then, that little puppy peeks out and it makes me all squishy
inside.”

“Sometimes I believe your packaging,
too. I start to think, wow, Yoshiro Miyazaki is this super cool
guy. But then, you do something like making me hug it out in a gym
and talking about going all squishy, and I catch a glimpse of the
total freaking dork that lives under that perfect hair.”

He smiled again. “I know, it really is
perfect. Come on, let’s move to free weights, the elliptical is
boring. It’s your turn to spot first.”

“Did you hear the part where you’re a
dork?”

“You say that like it’s a bad
thing.”

As we crossed the gym, Yosh changed
the subject by saying, “Hey, before I forget, I need you to do
something for me.”

“Sure, anything.”

“Aw. You still love me, even though
you think I’m a dork.”

“Not think, know. What do you
need?”

“I need you to come to a party with me
tonight.”

“Why does asking me to go to a party
sound like you’re calling in a favor?”

“Because the party is at Miles
Harken’s apartment.”

I stopped walking and stared at my
friend. “Yosh, that fucker keeps using you, then throws you away
like a dirty diaper. What the hell?”

“I know, although ‘dirty diaper’ is
overstating it a bit. Miles is a grade-A douche, no doubt about it,
but wait until you hear who’s going to be at the party.”

“What difference does that make? You
promised me you’d stay the hell away from Miles! Remember how you
felt the last time you caved and answered one of his booty calls?
It took me days to talk you out of that shame spiral.”

Yosh chuckled and said, “Shame spiral.
Thank you for that, Oprah.”

“You know I’m right.”

“I’m not going because I want to see
Miles, I swear. I’m going because you need this.”

“I need this? What do I
need?”

“Jason Jax. He’s the guest of honor
tonight and you’ve been crushing on him forever.”

“You’re shitting me,” I
murmured.

“He’s in town filming a movie and I
guess he and Miles are old friends.”

“Jason Jax played Miles’ dad in that
TV series about ten years ago, the one about the widower in Alaska
with six kids.”

“Oh, right! Randall’s Ridge. That show
sucked ass.”

“It totally did,” I said.
“I only watched it for the scenes were Jason would strip off his
flannel shirt and get all sweaty chopping wood for winter. He used
to chop
a lot
of
wood.”

“Because that’s not
gratuitous.”

“That was why the show lasted two full
seasons. When it got cancelled, the only people who complained were
horny housewives and me.”

“Oh man, did you actually send a
letter to the network?”

I grinned at my friend. “Jason was so
damn hot. Still is, he’s only gotten sexier over time. What do you
suppose the chances are that he’s gay?”

“Come to the party tonight and find
out.”

“Two problems with that. I have to
babysit, and you have to stay away from Miles Harken.”

“Who are you babysitting?”

“My brother Mikey’s boys. He has a
date tonight.”

“Well shit, if it’s Mikey he’ll be
home by ten. The party will just be getting started.”

I chewed my lower lip as I thought it
over for a few moments. Finally I said, “If I went, I would need a
solemn oath from you.”

“I won’t let Miles get me in bed, I
swear.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Yosh grinned at that. “So, you ask for
an oath and when I give you one, you immediately shoot it down. I
can’t win.”

“You’re right. Sorry. I just know how
irrational you get where Harken is concerned.”

“Not this time. Tonight is all about
throwing you at your crush and seeing what sticks.”

I smiled at him. “Is that what we’ll
be doing?”

“Pretty much.”

“I doubt he’s gay. He’s always being
photographed with some beautiful supermodel or another.”

“Maybe they’re just his
beards.”

“Well hell, let’s go tonight and find
out.”

Yosh beamed at me.
“Awesome.”

“Want to hang out with me while I
babysit? That way, we can go straight to the party when Mikey gets
home.”

“I could, but maybe you should get
someone else to watch your nephews. What if your brother gets lucky
and spends the night?”

“He won’t.”

My friend chuckled at that. “Mikey’s a
really good-looking guy, you know. It could happen.”

“Well sure, it
could
. But he’s a dad
first and foremost, so he won’t be spending the night anywhere. Now
are you actually going to lift those weights, or just pose with
them? I do actually have to work today so we need to get moving.” I
made air quotes with my fingers when I said the word
‘work’.

Yosh configured his weights, then got
on the bench as he asked, “How is your quote-unquote job, anyway?
That guy still driving you insane?”

“Utterly.”

“Well, we’d better hurry up and finish
our workout. We know how you are about being late.” Yosh smiled at
me as I rolled my eyes.

*****

About the only thing Zan Tillane
didn’t routinely complain about was my punctuality. He undoubtedly
would have, if he actually owned a clock and if my job description
said anything about me being there at a certain time. Absolutely
everything else in the world was complaint fodder, after
all.

The door to the den where Zan spent
almost every minute of his life was closed when I let myself into
his huge house in Marin. I deposited five canvas grocery sacks on
the kitchen island, then went back out to the car, taking two
triple-bagged sacks of trash with me. Those I stuck in my trunk
before returning with three boxes of books that I’d mail-ordered
for him. He wouldn’t actually tell me what he wanted to read, but
he told his son Christian, who passed the information along to me.
It was such an eye-roller.

Up until a few months ago, Christian
had been doing all of that for his dad. But my friend had had
surgery to remove a brain tumor and was undergoing chemotherapy, so
he’d hired me to do the job. To say his father resented my
intrusion into his life was putting it mildly.

I’d just about finished putting away
the groceries when the door to the den finally swung open.
Sometimes, Zan didn’t come out at all. Usually when he did, it was
to complain about something.

“You bought the wrong kind of tuna
last time,” he announced, pushing his long, dark hair over his
shoulder.

“I know. I had to, because of the
worldwide shortage.”

He looked surprised at that. “Of
tuna?”

“No, of douchebags pretentious enough
to spend six bucks on a can of fish. That brand you insisted on
went under, so now you’re stuck with pedestrian two dollar
tuna.”

“Are you sure it went under? Did you
call the company? Maybe the store just stopped carrying
it.”

“I did actually, and then I was pissed
off at myself for buying into that doucheyness. There’s no
difference between the discontinued brand and the stuff I got for
you. It’s a fucking fish in a fucking can!”

“Which is, by definition, not
pretentious! It isn’t as if I asked for a bleedin’ fifty dollar
nugget of Ahi on a bed of twenty dollar bills.” As he became more
agitated, his English accent started taking a turn for the cockney.
I always found that entertaining.

“Normally, no. Canned tuna is the
exact opposite of pretentious, until you slap on a fancy label and
charge six bucks for it.”

Zan spotted something on the kitchen
island and frowned as he changed the subject. “What is
that?”

“A fruit.”

“I gathered that. What kind of
fruit?”

“A tangelo.”

“What’s a tangelo?”

“It’s a cross between a tangerine and
a....” I paused to consider that, then admitted, “Hell, I have no
idea. Let’s just say it’s a big, fat tangerine.”

“That wasn’t on my shopping
list.”

“I know. I think it’d do you good to
expand your diet a bit, so every week, I’m going to bring you one
new item. I’m starting easy.”

“I don’t want it. Take it
away.”

“Don’t fear the fruit,
Zan.”