From Morocco to Paris (27 page)

They walked into the garage -- no car inside, just boxes, storage bins, tools, and piles of junk. Zane led Davey through the maze to a door in the back.

“Me and Ian got a little apartment over the garage,” he said. “Moved out here when we were teenagers. It was easier than living in the house with our father.”

The apartment, up a short flight of stairs, was warm and smelled like window cleaner and carpet freshener. The blinds were closed, and Zane switched on the lights. A clothesbasket sat next to the door, filled with folded clothes, ones Zane hadn’t taken with him to California.

“Momma keeps the place up,” Zane said, “so we can crash here any time we come home. She must have turned on the heat.” He slung his duffel bag into a chair. “Welcome to Casa de Reed.” He spread his arms wide.

“Is that redneck Spanish?” Davey stood in the middle of the living room, bag still on his shoulder, looking around.

The apartment, despite having limited space, always suited Zane and Ian as a refuge from the tension inside the house. A living room and a small dining room flowed into each other; a tiny kitchenette sat off the dining room; down a short hallway were two small bedrooms and a bathroom. The furniture consisted of Salvation Army finds and secondhand pieces from neighbors, the décor having no particular coherent theme. Zane liked the floors, all gleaming bare hardwood. He liked how the sleek boards felt under his feet.

“Oh,” Davey said. He walked over to a mirror spanning most of one wall in the living room. “I like this,” he said softly.

Zane and Ian had covered most of the mirror’s surface with pictures -- of friends, colleagues, pictures from movie sets Zane had been on, places they had been -- the photographs chronicled their exciting life outside of Kentucky, some faded and worn, others vibrant and fresh. Whenever they came home they added new ones.

Zane went over to his duffel bag. After some digging, he drew out the picture of him and Davey with the little sparkly heart sticker still attached. He stuck the picture on a clear spot at the end of the mirror.

“There. That’s a start.”

Davey smiled. “I’m too honored to laugh at you for being a dork.”

Zane pulled his coat off. “Want the grand tour?”

“Sure.” Davey slid his bag off his shoulder and sat it down.

After Zane hung his coat up, he walked Davey to the intersection of the living room and dining room, where he could also see the hallway.

Zane pointed as he spoke. “Living room, dining room, bedroom, shitter. Now I’m gonna go take a piss.”

Davey laughed.

When Zane came back from the bathroom, he found Davey sitting in one of the chairs in the living room, peering into a crate filled with CDs and DVDs. Zane didn’t even know what was in there anymore.

“You need some shelves,” Davey said.

“Ah, I haven’t been here in ages. I’m sure my nieces come out here and watch stuff and listen to the CDs. Let ‘em have at it. Want a beer?”

“Sure.”

“Ian probably just bought some cheap swill. Nothing fancy.”

“I’ll drink y’all’s redneck booze, don’t worry.”

Zane found food in the refrigerator, enough for the week.

“Momma’s been shopping,” he said, pushing things aside to get to the beer. “Whole fridge is full of food.” He grabbed two bottles and took them to the living room. “By the way, you better quit teasing me about the way I talk, cause it’s only gonna get worse now that I’m here.”

“I can’t. You’re being so remarkable lately, I don’t have anything else to pick on.”

Zane twisted the cap off and handed Davey the beer.

“Thank you, dear.”

Zane flopped in the chair across from Davey. Davey had taken his coat off and draped it over the arm of the chair, his scarf still around his neck.

“You know,” Zane said, running his fingers over the cold bottle in his hands, “you’re welcome here, anytime you want. I mean, after the movie and all.”

Davey arched an eyebrow, taking a drink of his beer. He lowered the bottle and licked his lips. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“No. I don’t live here. I’m just saying…if you ever need a place to crash, or hide out for a while, Kentucky’s a lot better than Los Angeles.”

Davey smiled. “See, this is why I have to keep teasing you.” He looked around and then back at Zane. “I wouldn’t mind hiding out. But only if you’re here.”

They were silent for a few minutes, drinking their beers. Then Zane cleared his throat.

“I think you’ll like my family,” he said.

“I already do.”

“You’ve only met Ian.”

“True.” Davey got up and strolled toward him, scarf gently swaying. “But any family that fills your fridge with groceries and warms the place up before you get there is a treasure.” He leaned over and placed his hands on the arms of Zane’s chair. “Not everyone is so lucky.”

“I am lucky,” Zane said softly, gazing up at him. “What did I do to be so blessed?”

“I think you probably just blew the right person. Pre-birth. Probably an angel or something.”

Zane gripped Davey’s scarf and pulled him down. “I see an angel I’d like to blow.”

“Oh, Jesus, Zane. I’m not ready for sap. Let’s just stick to calling each other ‘idiot,’ okay?”

They shared a slow, deep kiss. Kissing Davey in his childhood home felt surreal, sacrilegious, and a little naughty.

Davey broke the kiss and whispered against Zane’s lips, “So, why don’t you show me your bedroom?”

***

As Zane stepped into the achingly familiar warmth and smell of his mother’s house a rush of emotions flooded him -- some good, some bad. Before he could speak, two dark-haired little girls came screeching at him like twin whirlwinds and pounced.

“Christ, look how much you two have grown!” Zane gathered them in his arms and lifted them up with a playful growl, making them shriek more.

“Watch your mouth,” his mother admonished. When he put the girls down he had a big hug for her as well, lifting her off her feet and making her squeal just like them.

“Momma, this is Davey Alexander; he’s on the movie with me.” Zane motioned him over. “Davey, this is my momma, Lucy, and my sister, Essie.” He gestured to the table in the corner of the yellow kitchen, where his sister stood stacking plates. “The mother of these two little ankle biters.” He chuckled and ruffled the girls’ hair, the two of them still clamoring around his legs.

“It’s nice to meet you, Davey,” Zane’s mother said and shook his hand. She was dark-haired, short, and soft-featured, a quiet and reserved woman, though she had blossomed a bit in the years since his father’s death. His contrastingly tall, curvy sister had dark hair as well, and plenty of wit but little tact. Zane didn’t miss the way she checked Davey out.

“And of course you know Ian,” Zane said as Ian came over to collect the girls.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Ian took Davey’s hand. “Ian Reed. The gorgeous brother.”

Davey grinned, and Essie yelled, “Ian, quit being a shithead and go get the girls cleaned up for dinner!”

“I’m sorry, when did I give birth to them again?”

Zane shot Davey a sheepish, apologetic look as voices rose, their mother telling them again to watch their mouths, the girls giggling and shrieking as Ian tried to herd them out of the kitchen. Zane’s mother took Davey by the hands and pulled him toward the table, where she drew out a chair for him.

“Sit down, Davey. Essie, get some coffee going. So much for first impressions.”

Davey chuckled. Essie swept him with the same gaze Ian had once used.

“I don’t mind it,” Davey said. “I’m usually surrounded by chaos.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Zane’s mother asked.

“No,” Davey said. “And most of my family is scattered across the country. I missed out on all this.”

“What a shame.” She took some coffee cups down from the cupboard. “Would you like some coffee?”

“He wanted to bring a present, Momma.” Zane walked over to start setting the table. “He wanted to bring wine, but I told him we’re from Kentucky; we’ve got plenty of whiskey in the house.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Reed,” Davey said. “Coffee is fine.”

“Call me Lucy.” She shot Zane a look. “And you’ll get coffee to start with as well.”

Essie came back from the coffee pot, a little swing in her hips. She took the plates Zane held.

“He’s cute,” she murmured.

“He’s also involved with someone,” Zane murmured back. “Leave him alone.”

Dinner in Zane’s childhood home hadn’t changed much over the years -- a lot of food, a lot of conversation, and a lot of commotion -- the only thing different being the absence of his father, who usually got drunk and started yelling before dessert. Davey, quite unlike himself, didn’t say much, but he did look alternately charmed and amused. Zane’s mother stayed subdued as well, only raising her voice when they got too loud or started swearing.

Essie did her best to chat Davey up, despite Zane’s warning. Davey maintained politeness but didn’t flirt back. Zane wondered if the entirety of his family would attempt to sleep with him.

In the midst of all the chaos, reveling in the comfort of being in a place he knew better than any other, Zane was suddenly gripped by a powerful emotion, stilling him down to his very soul.

Davey had his hands folded above his plate, watching with amusement as Ian and his seven-year-old niece subtly tossed food back and forth. The little girl giggled into her hands, then glanced at her mother to make sure she wasn’t watching before she tossed another piece. Zane took Davey in, his hair pushed back over his shoulders, the glow from the light above the table casting an amber hue on his skin, and realized fully he’d brought him
home
. Into his secret world, where only those closest to his heart ever ventured.

Davey caught his gaze. They shared a lingering look. Warmth spread in Zane’s chest, having nothing to do with his mother’s beef stew. No wonder he feared such a thing, when it could take him off guard and completely overwhelm him in the most unexpected of instants.

Glancing away, Zane saw Ian watching them. Ian looked down, and then tossed a piece of carrot at his niece, his smile forced and tight.

After dessert -- an incredible apple pie that left Zane moaning in bliss -- Davey tried to help their mother rinse the dishes.

“You don’t need to do that,” she scolded him. “Go sit down and have a drink.”

“I used to be a dishwasher,” Davey said. “And you’ve been so gracious to me. The food was amazing. Let me show my gratitude.”

Zane saw Essie smirk, watching Davey’s backside. Ian gathered up the girls.

“Come on, whippersnappers, let’s get you in your pajamas and up to bed!” Ian shooed them out of the kitchen, whines of protest going up.

“We ought to go over to the bar tonight,” Zane said, watching Davey as he sprayed off the plates.

“Oh, not tonight, Zane!” His mother protested. “You’ve just gotten in. Stay around tonight, and tomorrow we’ll all go out.”

In truth, Zane didn’t want to go out; they just had a habit of hitting their favorite bar when he came home. Once his mother finally forced Davey away from the sink, he joined Zane in the living room, both of them with beers in hand.

“That’s my father,” Zane said lowly, the two of them standing in front of the huge picture of him on the wall above the mantle. “She won’t take it down. Even though he’s been gone almost eight years. She says he was her husband, right or wrong.”

Davey studied the picture. “You have his eyes.”

“I have some other things from him too. But I’m trying to get rid of them.”

Davey fell quiet for a moment. He looked down at his bottle. “There’s one of the three -- the men who might be my father -- I actually hope it is, despite what I said before. I think I have his eyes too.”

“What’s he like?”

Davey looked back up at the picture. “Normal. Responsible. Has a couple kids and a house, a good job, oversees some big factory in Los Angeles. I only talked to him once. It was awkward and short. I don’t think he knows who I am.”

Zane looked down at his own bottle then back up at the picture. His father’s deceptive smile for the photographer mocked him across time. “Sometimes illusion is better than reality.”

His mother got out a deck of cards and insisted they teach Davey how to play Texas Hold’em. She shot down Zane’s suggestion they play for money, however. Gathered around the kitchen table, Zane sitting next to Davey so he could teach him how to cheat, he again experienced the warmth in his chest. He caught Davey’s eye while his mother dealt the cards and they exchanged a soft smile. Zane couldn’t help but notice, however, Ian hadn’t come back from putting the girls to bed. He eventually excused himself to go to the bathroom and went on the hunt for him.

He found him out back, sitting on the porch stairs, smoking a cigarette and staring out at the night, a full beer at his side.

“You all right?” Zane asked, sitting down beside him.

“I’m fine.” Ian didn’t look at him, but his voice sounded clipped.

Zane sat there for a moment, and then pulled out his cigarettes and lit one of his own. “You’re not gonna turn your back on me after getting me this far, are you?”

Ian shook his head, blowing smoke out through his nose. “No.”

“I’m not angry at you for being jealous. I just wish I could do something for you.”

“It’s not about that.”

“No? What is it, then?”

Ian picked up his beer, but didn’t take a drink. “I just marvel at how unfair life can be.”

“It seems to take no prisoners.”

“I’m just wondering, you know -- “ He looked away, shaking his head. He sat the beer down between his feet. “When will I be able to bring someone I love home? Introduce him to Momma. Have him at the supper table. Have her fuss over him and yell at him for trying to do the dishes.”

“Momma doesn’t know what he is to me. Everyone thinks he’s just a friend. For fuck’s sake, Essie’s trying to get in his pants!”

“But
you
know. That’s all that matters.”

“You’re hardly a lonely man, Ian. There’s always some beautiful guy on your arm.”

“Love and sex are not the same thing.” He looked over at Zane, the light from the door glinting in his eyes. “You know that more than anyone, don’t you?”