From Morocco to Paris (23 page)

Davey chewed his lower lip, studying his face. “My first virgin.” He poked Zane’s side. “Nice and tight.”

“It’s good to know after all this time I can still say that about some part of myself. Well, could.”

Davey propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at him. “You’re a hell of a guy,” he said softly.

“I’ve been told.”

Later, in the darkness, Zane listened to Davey’s breath against his shoulder. He skimmed his fingers over Davey’s forearm, the fine hairs tickling his fingertips. He thought about Paris. The last leg of a very long race. The conclusion. The end.

Zane tilted his face downward. Davey appeared as a shadow in the darkness, the faint light from the window picking out the tips of his eyelashes and gleaming on his hair. Zane touched his face and traced the smooth line of his jaw.

“Zane?” Davey whispered.

“Yes,” Zane whispered back, “I know.”

PART THREE

Paris: City of Love

Paris was a damp, chilly contrast to months spent in the desert. When Zane got there, he remembered with a surreal shock that autumn had descended. He felt as though he’d been away for years, not even on the same planet.

“It’s not Cairo, is it?” Ian asked, buttoning his long black coat as they stepped out of the terminal of Charles De Gaulle airport. He’d called Zane the day before to tell him he’d arrived in Paris and would pick them up to eliminate the need for a driver. “And how are you, darling?” Ian slipped an arm around Davey’s shoulders. Elliot had traveled with them as well.

Davey looked pale and listless, huddled in his own bulky suede coat; they’d had the sense to remember the calendar said October and dress accordingly, even if the season wasn’t real until they touched down. Davey had been sick on the plane, and Zane hoped he hadn’t received a parting shot from Africa, being sent off with a nice case of food poisoning or a virus.

“Not so good,” Davey said and smiled weakly. “Air sick.”

“Ugh,” Ian said. “I usually have to take something before I fly, myself.”

Crossing to the lot where Ian had parked his car, something else reminded Zane he had left the barren, lifeless desert.

“Christ, where did they come from?” Elliot asked.

Ian released Davey and hurried to the car. He opened the passenger front door for Elliot as several photographers started clicking away. Before Elliot could get in though, three young women ran over, bouncy and gasping in the chilly air.

“Are you Elliot Butler?” one asked in a charming French accent, her blue eyes wide with hope. Her friends, huddled around her in knit caps and scarves, looked at him expectantly.

“Yes,” Elliot said. He shot Zane a sly smile.

Zane rolled his eyes and went around the other side of the car but didn’t get in, in case Elliot needed him to intervene. The girls tittered, quickly delving into their handbags. They produced pens and pieces of paper.

Elliot signed autographs and answered their gushing questions, telling them yes, he would be in Paris for a while, and no, he couldn’t tell them his hotel. One ran her hand through his hair and proclaimed it “beautiful.” Elliot gave each of the girls a hug and got in the car. Zane got in as well, in the back with Davey. The photographers still hovered near the terminal, snapping pictures from across the road.

“They spring up out of the ground,” Ian said as he drove them through the parking lot. “I’ve hung out with enough famous people to know the pattern. You don’t even see them until they pop up.”

“I think you’re just jealous of Elliot’s glamorous life,” Zane said.

Elliot snorted.

Zane looked over at Davey. “You all right?” he asked softly.

Davey nodded, still rather pale, the stark light enhancing his pallor.

“I’ll be fine,” Davey said. “I don’t think there’s anything left to throw up.”

Zane patted his knee with a smirk. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve actually seen someone use an air sickness bag.”

“Now you have something to tell your grandkids.”

“Hey,” Ian said and looked up at the rearview mirror. “Are you sure he’s not knocked up, Zane?”

Zane shot him a withering look, and Ian grinned.

Paris was just as historically rich and culturally steeped as any city they had visited so far. Old and new mixed as in Marrakech and Cairo, the atmosphere modern and vibrant one minute, classical and majestic the next. They drove along the Seine toward their hotel near Notre Dame, and Zane gazed out the window, taking in the vast splendor of the city rising above the waterway.

“You ever been to Paris?” Zane asked Davey. “I never even bothered to ask, did I?”

“No, I’ve never been here,” Davey said, staring out his window. “I predict lots of sightseeing in our future.”

“I’ve been here a couple times,” Ian piped up. “I’ll be the tour guide!”

“Intimate knowledge of every bar in the Oberkampf district doesn’t count,” Zane told his brother.

Hotel Britannique, where they were staying, bore a white stone façade and red awnings, a quaint and charming low-rise nestled among several other similar buildings and a wealth of autumn-splashed trees.

“We can walk to the Louvre from here, according to the guide book I read,” Zane said as they entered the lobby, a room with a white tile floor and a bevy of plants, colorful paintings, and lavish furniture. “We’ll get lots of culture while we’re here.”

Davey plodded in beside Zane, lugging his suitcases.

Ian, who followed them, stopped Davey before he reached the desk. “I’ll carry those since you’re feeling ill.”

Davey seemed about to protest but then closed his mouth and smiled faintly. Dark circles hung under his eyes. Zane figured he probably didn’t look much better, despite being healthy. He’d had enough of traveling.

At the check-in desk, Zane thankfully found no problem with their reservations. Saul promised he would secure everything for the crew, but Zane knew from previous experiences on movies to always prepare for a glitch. The woman behind the desk kept glancing discreetly at Elliot but said nothing.

The room they put Zane in had red carpet and cream-colored walls. Two windows looked out on the craggy, gray Paris skyline. The bed, covered with a red spread, sat beneath a curtain canopy. A sunburst mirror hung on the wall above the bed, the style making Zane think of Morocco. He dropped his bags and sprawled on the mattress on his stomach.

“Civilization, how I’ve missed you.” He ran his fingers over the bedspread. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

“This is fancy,” Ian said. “Saul spoils you.”

Zane rolled over and gazed up at the canopy, the afternoon light filtering yellow through the gauzy fabric.

“Live my life for the past couple months and see if you need some spoiling,” Zane said.

Ian walked over to the bed. “I hope Davey is all right,” he said. They had dropped him off at his room down the hallway.

“He’s just got a stomach bug. Actually, it’s probably from the food. Some days in Africa I spent more time on the toilet than doing my job.” Zane sat up on his elbow. “Ian. You’re going to have to get over him.”

“I am, Zane. He’s all yours.”

“I’m not saying that out of jealousy. I’m just trying to save you some heartache.”

“Zane, I’m over him.” Ian turned away. “I was sexually attracted to him. That doesn’t denote infatuation.”

“Oh, really? Why were you carrying his bags then? What’s all this worrying about him?”

“He’s sick!” Ian turned back around. “I think
you
should go fuss over him, personally. It’s your place, after all.”

“We’re not boyfriends.” Zane sat up and scooted off the bed. “We’re not going to get into labeling things again. And I will go check on him, after he gets settled in.”

Zane called Elliot. Elliot told him Saul wanted him to rest up and study his lines for shooting the next day, so Zane had the night off. Ian told Zane he’d come back and go to dinner with him, since he had a room in another, more economic hotel and needed to go change. After Ian left, Zane unpacked, changed into some fresh clothes, and went down the hallway to visit Davey.

Davey wore one of the white complimentary hotel robes, his hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Figured it would be easier this way, since I don’t have you to hold it back,” he explained, leading Zane inside. His room looked much like Zane’s, down to the colors.

Zane could only imagine what Ian would say about him holding Davey’s hair back while he puked: surely such an act signaled great love and adoration, though Zane just considered the gesture payback. Davey had nursed him more than once while germs and bad food ravaged his intestines.

“Still feel like blowing chunks?” Zane asked.

Davey stood next to the bed, covers turned down, the television on across the room.

“It’s clear you’ve been around Ian again,” he said. “You sound like a redneck.”

Zane chuckled and kneaded Davey’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. Are you still feeling a mite under the weather, good sir?”

“No, I feel like shit.” Davey rolled his head and sighed. “Why don’t you do that on the bed? I don’t feel like standing up anymore.”

Davey sat on the bed facing the television, and Zane sat behind him, rubbing. Though only mid-afternoon, Zane wanted to curl up and go to sleep.

“Fucking five-hour flights,” Zane murmured, pushing his thumbs gently into Davey’s shoulders through the terrycloth robe. “They take it out of you.”

“Wasn’t quite five hours,” Davey said. “We should take a nap. We both need one.”

They lay down together and Davey put his head on Zane’s shoulder -- Zane figured if Davey had a virus he would get sick anyway, just being around him. His hair brushed against Zane’s cheek, smelling like shampoo. Zane considered how cozy they were getting and how the notion should have alarmed him more.

“I talked to Elliot,” Zane said. “He doesn’t need me tonight.”

“Mm,” Davey answered.

Zane set the alarm on his cell phone, and they slept until it went off at six o’clock. Davey said he felt better after sleeping and decided to join Ian and Zane for dinner.

They all dressed nicely and went to a fancy restaurant -- though Zane couldn’t imagine anything in Paris not being fancy -- with flower-patterned wallpaper, hanging lamps, drapes over glass partitions between tables, and gleaming oak everywhere. Zane didn’t see any other members of the crew there, despite the restaurant being close to the hotel. He figured they were all smart and went to bed early.

“I have something for you,” Ian said to Zane. He pulled a large manila envelope out of his bag and put it on the table. “I ran into Saul earlier, and he asked me to give it to you.”

“You’re chatting with Saul now?”

“Please.” Ian took a sip of his wine. “I’ve slept with more directors than a porn star.”

“Don’t sleep with Saul, all right?” Zane asked. He picked up the envelope, heart thudding. He had an idea what might be inside.

Davey watched, sipping soup from a spoon. He looked a little better, the blue sweater he wore setting off his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked Zane.

Zane looked over the papers he’d pulled out. “It’s information on the movie Saul told me about. And the director I’ll be working with.” He shot Davey a look. “If he takes me on, that is.”

Davey put down his spoon and picked up his napkin. “I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me,” Zane said. He flipped through the stapled pages. A sense of impending finality seemed to creep out of the envelope as well. “Only a month left on this production…”

“Yeah,” Davey said dully. “Cristiano offered me a spot in his design agency in Milan. I’m considering it, but I don’t know. Troy and I have been working on our own line. He’s been trying to get us sponsorship. I can’t wait until he gets here.”

“Who’s Troy?” Ian asked.

“My best friend,” Davey said. “He’s coming for a week. He’ll be here Tuesday.”

“Oh? Is he as gorgeous as you?” Ian asked.

Zane scowled at Ian, tucking the papers back in the envelope.

“I don’t know,” Davey said, picking up his spoon again. “He’s my best friend. I don’t choose my friends for their looks.”

“So? You can gauge if the people around you are good looking,” Ian said.

“Do you think Zane is good-looking?”

“I think he fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

Davey paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Still,” Ian went on, “he gets a lot of ass. So I’d say yes, he’s good-looking.”

“So I should judge Troy’s appearance by how often he gets laid?”

“Sure. I think that’s an accurate barometer. Does he get a lot of girls?” Ian leaned toward Davey with a coy smile. “Or
guys
?”

“Ooh, do you smell that?” Zane waved a hand. “Smells like
desperation
.”

“It’s the salmon actually,” Ian said. “It doesn’t agree with me.”

Davey dropped his spoon in the bowl and picked up his napkin. “I see you can take the boys out of the outhouse, but you can’t take the outhouse out of the boys, can you? We’re only in a four star restaurant.”

“Is he as adventurous as you or not?” Ian asked and turned back to his food, clearly ignoring Davey’s admonishment.

“I don’t know.” Davey shrugged and took a drink of his water. “I think he’s straight.” His voice sounded hollow inside the glass. “I mean, he knows I’m not, but he’s never gone out looking for guys with me or anything.”

Zane paused in cutting up his chicken. “He knows you’re bi?”

Davey put the glass down, sucking water from his lower lip. He arched an eyebrow at Zane. “I slept with his brother.”

This made Zane a little uneasy. While he’d gotten more comfortable with Davey, he wasn’t ready for everyone else to know. He liked their situation in the safe confines of the little box they’d created around themselves. Within the box he could be himself -- outside, things weren’t as easy.

“Anyway,” Davey said. “Hit on him, Ian. He’ll either say yes or punch you in the mouth.”

“I’m not sure which would be sexier.”

After dinner, Ian went back to his hotel and Zane and Davey to theirs. They sat downstairs in the lounge, a room decorated in red and gold and full of plump, plush furniture. Zane sat on a couch next to Davey, lost in his thoughts, stroking a finger idly over the ripped edge of the envelope on his lap.