Drag Queen in the Court of Death (11 page)

We settled into a routine, Ryan and I. I felt better knowing we had laid down some guidelines, however vague, and that there was a time limit hinted at on his stay. He worked outside after breakfast, while I worked at the table in the solarium, doing course outlines, making phone calls, writing letters about Ronnie's estate and notes about the book. I admit that my eyes often strayed to the garden, to Ryan's naked shoulders straining and sweaty in the sun, to the hair plastered to his forehead, to his arms corded with unexpected muscle. I knew I wasn't the only one. I was aware of Julie on the floor above me and was glad only one of her windows overlooked the garden. He was a pleasant distraction, a secret vice I enjoyed, even though I felt a little like a voyeur at the keyhole of my own bedroom.

Logan phoned to let me know he was coming home on Friday. I was amazed but pleased for him. I know how he longed to get outside those hospital walls. He had been in and out of the burn unit for so long now, but this time, he said, would be it. I hoped he wasn't being overly optimistic. His sister was cleaning the apartment and stocking the cupboards, so there wasn't anything for me to do but pick him up on Friday morning. I told him about my visit to London. I didn't tell him about Ryan's return. Was that because he was straight and I didn't want to make myself a stereotype in his eyes? Or because I wanted to keep Ryan to myself?

But it seemed I couldn't keep him a secret for long. Lew seemed to sense that Ryan was back. He called a few days after he arrived.

"I was just thinking of dropping over," Lew said, after a few moments of idle chatter.
"Not now," I said irritably.
"Look, hon, I'm going to meet him one way or another, so let's be civilized. Thursday, eight p.m., my place. Dinner with all the trimmings."
"You can do all the trimmings that fast?"
"I'm a fast boy, Michael. Always was."
"True enough." I sighed. He was right. He would just persist until he wore me down or caught me unawares. I would rather get it over with. "Okay, you win. See you there."
"You remember the address?"
"I remember." I hung up and joined Ryan on the patio.
"Looking good," I said, walking over the paving stones, testing their balance and the way they settled under my weight. I ignored the cigarette butts strewn about.
Ryan thrust his shovel into the ever-diminishing pile of sand and mopped his forehead. "Yeah, it's working pretty good. Should be finished the stones in another day." He pulled out a crumpled pack of Players and lit one. He inhaled deeply and blew a jet of smoke over his shoulder.
I sat down on one of the wrought-iron chairs shoved in a corner of the tiny patio. "We've been invited to a friend's place for dinner. His name's Llewellyn ab Hugh. But Ryan, you don't have to go if you don't want to. I won't mind."
"That the lawyer guy who's in the paper all the time about those gangster cases and shit?"
"The very same."
"Cool! Yeah, man, sure I want to go. Why not?"
I sighed.
"So how come you know him?"
"We went to school together. Okay, dinner's on for tomorrow at eight." I looked at him consideringly. "You want to go shopping this afternoon?"
He laughed and cocked his head. "You buying?"
Well, he can hardly afford good clothes on what I pay him,
I thought defensively. I blamed Lew for this, for turning me into a daddy, though I had to admit I had helped. * * * *

Thursday evening, as we drove to Lew's fashionable condo in an ex-slum near the waterfront, I was absurdly nervous. I knew Lew and the razor-sharp mind he tried to hide behind all that flamboyance, and I dreaded being the object of his dissection. Ryan kept glancing down at himself appreciatively when he thought I wasn't looking. The new stonewashed 501s were tight-fitting, and they showed off all his assets in ways that made my mouth water.

Ryan was impressed with Lew's gilded, portly doorman. He shot me a quick grin, then swaggered to the elevator, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. I caught a glimpse of us in the plate glass mirror just before the doors closed and smiled at the picture of the conservative middle-aged man in the navy blazer with requisite brass buttons and the boy who was trying to look like a hustler. Maybe the clothes were too new. Is that why he didn't quite make it? Or was I fooling myself?

Ryan seemed overawed by the showy splendour of his surroundings. "I guess lawyers really got it made, eh?" he whispered in the wide, broad-loomed hall outside penthouse nine.

"True," I agreed, "but think of having to talk to criminals all day long. Not very appealing, is it?"
"Who cares! I'd talk to anyone for all this!"
When Lew opened his door and I heard the murmur of voices behind him, I felt a hot flush of anger. Too late it occurred to me I ought to have rehearsed Ryan in the finer points of etiquette, like keeping your mouth closed while eating.
If Lew serves lobster in the shell, I'll never forgive him
, I thought as I followed him into the living room.
Lew was into his jungle period. The whole place was done in different shades of green and brown with a lot of ferns and wicker furniture. Huge murals of lions and tigers decorated the walls and fierce African sculptures lurked on teak shelves among the ivory and brass.
Ryan was enchanted, gazing around in unabashed curiosity. "Cool," he murmured in awe. "Awesome." He totally ignored the three other men in the room, who were watching him with quiet amusement. I recognized them all and shook hands, murmuring the usual platitudes.
"I thank you, and my decorator thanks you," said Lew. "I wish all my guests were this appreciative."
Ryan smiled uncertainly. He paid attention as Lew made the introductions, repeating each name softly. He shook hands and smiled with diffident, boyish charm. When Lew left to get the drinks, I followed and cornered him in front of the fridge.
"You didn't mention you were planning a circus," I said coolly.
"Circus? What circus? I'm having a few old friends over for dinner. Pass the lemon juice."
I banged the bottle down on the counter beside him. "I didn't bring Ryan here to provide amusement for you and your gossiping friends."
"Our friends. It's all in the family, Michael."
"Since when is Glori Daze an old friend of yours?"
"Since when do you get to critique the guest list? Anyway, I thought you liked Duane." He gave me a quick grin. "And you know my partner, Tony."
"When did lovers start being partners?" I asked irritably.
"Keep up, baby. Bob Keyes is a friend of Duane's. I think he has something to do with that Wilde Nights thing, so you know him too, right?"
"He's the choreographer."
"Right. Here's your drink. Take this one to the boy and relax, for God's sake."
When I got back to the living room, Bob had taken Glori, aka Duane, off to view the latest artistic acquisition. That left Ryan with Tony. Tony was short and blond and muscular and wore a large diamond earring. He was working hard at keeping the conversation going.
Ryan wasn't helping. As he listened, he stared at the golden hairs on Tony's chest, visible in the wide V-neck of his fashionable Italian sweater. He had more there than on his head.
"So you're working at Michael's for a while," Tony was saying between sips at his drink. "There must be lots to do around that old place."
"Yeah. Keeps me busy."
"I bet Michael's a real martinet sometimes," Tony went on with a wink at me.
Ryan frowned in thought. "He's an okay guy," he said at last.
When the others joined us, the conversation drifted into plays and opera, but I was tense, noticing the veiled glances in my direction. Finally Duane asked the question they'd all been thinking about.
"Anything new?" He leaned forward, his pink face beaming, blue eyes bright with interest. He looked younger when not in drag, I decided.
"Nothing," I said. "Look, I don't have any pals in the cop shop, guys. Give me a break. Let's get back to Rex Harrison."
"Not so fast," Lew said, holding up a long, pale hand in a gesture I'd seen him make on TV. "We know you've been nosing around, Michael, so give. What have you learned?"
There was utter stillness in the room. The CD had even stopped playing. I stared at my hands, feeling anger and disgust at myself for walking into this in the first place. Ryan smiled sympathetically.
"What is this? Truth or dare? You really want to go there, Lew?"
"Ooooh," said Duane appreciatively. "Gotcha."
"Why should he tell you anything, if he doesn't want to?" Ryan said suddenly. "He's sick of everyone asking about that crap. I thought you were his friends."
There was a moment of stunned silence.
"Bravo," Tony said.
"Indeed." Lew shot me a wicked grin. "And on that note, shall we adjourn to the dining room?"
I sat beside Ryan, ignoring the place cards. I knew how judgmental Lew could be, and I felt fiercely protective of my young companion. In some strange way, Ryan had become an ally. While Tony was serving the soup, I moved Ryan's elbows off the table, then, without thinking, reached over, unrolled his serviette and placed it on his lap. He twisted around to look at my face, and there was a disturbing glint in his eye.
"What's up?"
"You'll love the soup," I remarked heartily, trying to sidetrack him.
"I love a lot of things," he said and reached over for my serviette. Knocking my hands away, he insisted on spreading it out on my lap, expertly groping my crotch as he did so. He'd never touched me before. I felt my face flame scarlet as my cock responded under his hand. "There," he said with a melting smile. "We're ready for anything."
"Togetherness is so rare these days," Lew remarked from the head of the table.
I was afraid to say anything. Ryan had already turned his attention to the soup, which he was eating with a dessert spoon.
I don't remember a great deal about the meal. The conversation stayed civilized, if you don't count some lethal gossip about a few of our leading citizens in the arts world. At least no one mentioned Ronnie, though I felt his name in the air around me all evening. I drank more than usual and tried not to notice when Ryan sampled the gravy using the tip of his knife or picked his teeth thoughtfully between courses.
It was a relief when dinner was over and we moved back to the living room for brandy. Bob and I were soon embroiled in a heated debate about censorship and the Mapplethorpe exhibition that was causing such a stir in Cincinnati, and it was a while before I noticed that Lew and Ryan were among the missing.
I found them in the den. They didn't see me push the door open. Lew was talking softly. Ryan was sitting close beside him on the suede couch, one hand moving up and down Lew's thigh. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but after a moment, Ryan slid to the floor between Lew's knees. I felt bolted to the spot. My blood rushed into my head. Gulping, I loosened my tie and watched Ryan take Lew's pale cock in his hands and roll on a condom. Then he opened his mouth and gave him an expert blowjob.
Lew closed his eyes and leaned back into the cushions. His mouth opened slightly as his breath came in gasps. His head began to roll back and forth, and he reached out blindly for Ryan, fastening his fingers in the boy's sun-streaked hair. I wanted to leave, but there was no way I could move. I was condemned to stand there, my heart thumping in my ears, my hands sweaty. My mind tried to tell me there was no reason I should feel betrayed. My heart couldn't hear.
Then it was over. Ryan peeled off the condom and tied it, tossed it casually in the wastebasket. Lew moved his head and saw me and held my eyes for a moment. Had he known I was there all along? He slid some money into Ryan's hand, zipped up his fly. Without saying a word, he got up and walked past me out of the room. I knew he would never mention this moment.
Ryan got to his feet and smiled, a brilliant, studied smile that said nothing at all out of the way had happened here. If I had seen something, it must have been my imagination. I watched him unbutton his shirt a few more notches, slide his hand inside, and scratch his chest thoughtfully. He looked up at me through his lashes.
"I want to go home," he said softly, gliding over to stand close beside me. "Don't you want to leave?"
I was so hot for him now, I didn't care what he had just done! I nodded.
Lew, ever the thoughtful host, called us a taxi. On the way home, Ryan kept sliding against me every time we went around a corner. He was almost purring. By the time we got home, I didn't care what his motivation was. In my anxiety to get into the house, I over tipped the amused taxi driver. I knew I was making a fool of myself. It didn't matter.
Nothing mattered when I finally stood in the front hall with my blazer sliding unheeded to the floor and Ryan put his strong arms around me and pressed his mouth firmly against mine. I tasted wine and chocolate. His breath intoxicated me, sent me spinning, gasping for air. I flung my arms around him and clasped his lithe body against me hard, trying to squeeze out anything that came between us. My heart knocked hard against my ribs as if trying to touch his. The taste of him, the feel of him, the smell of the new leather of his jacket, all combined to drive me out of my usual painful reticence.
"Take off your clothes," I gasped.
"Not here. Upstairs." He slid out of my arms and took my hand and pulled me up the stairs to my bedroom. "I always wanted to make it in a four-poster like yours," he said. "Wait here."
I was helpless, confused. I hadn't had sex for a long time. I was under the spell of his lithe young body and sunstreaked hair, and wide, innocent eyes that hid a world of knowledge I would never have. I began to get undressed. Mesmerized. High on my own fantasy.
In a moment he was back, carrying the silver candelabra from the dining room. I felt like a child, standing naked beside my bed, watching him light the candles, switch off the light.
The golden flames leapt and danced as Ryan took off his clothes and flung them out of the way with an abandon this room had never seen. His body was smooth, almost hairless, as I'd guessed it would be. His nipples were cinnamon. The sun had already left his skin like golden honey. There was a clear line of a brief bathing suit low on his hips.
I reached out for him. I think I said something, but it made no sense, a sound of inarticulate need. As our bodies touched, he pushed me onto the bed. We tangled together. It was like trying to hold on to a dancing candle flame. He was hot and constantly shifting. I rolled over, pinning him beneath me, holding his slender wrists on either side of his head. He laughed up at me, and I covered his mouth with mine. I drank in his essence, his breath, tasting him, touching the roof of his mouth with my tongue. He was quiet now, letting me explore him. He began to return my kisses. Then he slid out of my grasp and wriggled down to suck my right nipple.
I cried out. I could smell the sun in his hair, the wind. Youth. I wasn't thinking anymore, letting him bring my body back to tingling life with his tongue, his lips, his teeth. I heard the rip of the foil package. Ryan was waiting with a condom. I flashed to that picture I knew I would always remember: Ryan kneeling between Lew's legs. I blinked hard, banishing the image.
"Fuck me," whispered Ryan.
I did.
The boy held his breath, then expelled it in a long, keening sigh as I sank into him. I wanted to hold on to that moment, hold on to Ryan, never let him go. I felt tears behind my eyes and blinked, seeing his sweat-slicked face waver before my eyes. Then I collapsed on top of him, my heart pounding.
"You okay?"
I nodded feebly. "It's been a while," I said, when I got my breath.
He laughed softly. "You're something else."
"Yeah. Sure."
"I mean it." He pushed me off him and propped himself on one elbow. "I don't get it," he said, looking down at me. "Why don't you just ... let go?"
I shook my head and smiled. How could I explain almost half a century of control to a kid like Ryan? I had let go once, twenty-five years ago. I was still paying. "Maybe I need a teacher," I said.
He laughed and snuggled against me. "Okay, you got one. When's the next class?"
"Give me a minute to recuperate." I watched the candle flames dance and glisten on his smooth chest. I began to stroke his hair. "Did Lew turn you on?"
"Not like this."
"So it was just a job, blowing him, I mean?"
He shook his head. "Nah. That was a freebie."
"Ryan, I saw money change hands."
He smiled, obviously amused at the old-fashioned expression. "That wasn't for the blowjob. He said the money was to see you got a good time. Hell, I would have done it for free, but why tell him?"
I kept stroking his hair, forcing my breath in and out, in and out. One of these days, I may kill Lew. But at least for a short time I hadn't thought about Ronnie. Ronnie, whose image hung like a ghost over the evening. Would I ever be free of him?
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