Self Preservation (2 page)

“What the hell happened here?”

“His…
what
dance?” Deseree asked, changing the subject.

“He has this little dance he does when he's finished brushing his teeth,” Davis said, smiling as he reached down and picked up a glass doorknob. “Something he and Candace used to do when he was little.” He turned the knob in his hand as light caught the reflection of the glass. Davis let out a defeated sigh as Deseree placed her head on his shoulder. She ran her hand over his back, and Davis felt a tear begin to run down his cheek as the thought of Jack being with someone else started to sink in.

“I can't lose him, Des. He's making a mistake. He means everything to me.”

“You mean you're actually going to go?” Deseree asked as Davis stood. She got up next to him.

“Oh my God.” He pointed to his reflection in the mirror of an antique fireplace mantel. As if seeing himself for the first time, he added, “Have you seen this?”

“It's not that bad,” Deseree answered, crinkling up her face.

“Are you on crack?” He began to hyperventilate. “I look like…like a heterosexual! I can't go to Chicago looking like this!”

Davis took off running toward the back of the store and threw open the door to the stairwell. He let out a shriek and ran up the stairs. Deseree looked around helplessly. She dashed back to the front door, flipped the CLOSED sign to face the window, locked the door, and took off up the stairs after Davis.

Davis burst through the front door to his loft and paced around the living room, muttering under his breath. Deseree walked through the front door, trying to catch her breath after climbing the two flights of stairs.

The apartment looked as if it had been replicated from an old film noir movie set. Classic curved lines and geometric shapes typical of art deco dominated the design. A couch and matching chair with large curved arms took up the bulk of the living room. They were covered in the original fabric and, with the exception of a small worn area on the piping of one of the sofa's arms, looked almost new. A large, wool antique area rug covered most of the wood floors. Its rich burgundy color had faded over the years. A massive flat-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall was the only item in the room betraying the historical accuracy of the space. Three large double-hung windows, without blinds or curtains, allowed the full morning sun to pour in along the front wall.

“Those stairs are murder,” Deseree said, observing Davis's tearstained cheeks.

“I can't meet the Toad like this,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Calm down, Tammy Faye.” Deseree looked him over. She walked up to him and ran her fingers through his hair, trying to figure out what to do with it. “You do have a world-renowned fashion designer at your disposal.”

“You'll help me?” he asked, with pleading eyes.

“I'll drag you out of the denim and cotton nightmare known as your wardrobe and have you looking like a rock star within a day.”

“And you'll come with me to Chicago?” he asked.

“You breaking out of your shell and laying claim to your man,” she said, smiling at the thought. “I wouldn't miss that for the world.”

“Thank you so much.” He threw his arms around her. “I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here.” Davis's eyes widened as panic swept over his face. He pulled away from her sharply. “Good Christ, I left the store open.”

“Calm down,” Deseree said, laughing at him. “I took care of it before I came up.”

Davis let out a sigh of relief as he hugged her again. “Thank God you showed up today of all days.”

They separated and she looked at him, started to say something, but stopped. She turned and walked over to a table full of framed photos. They consisted mainly of their college years, and she smiled looking over them. There were candid shots of Davis and Jack together, a shot of Deseree at one of her student fashion shows, Jack onstage performing in a play.

“Oh my God,” she said, picking up a picture of her and Davis dressed like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, dancing together. “I can't believe you have this.”

Davis walked over, looked down, and smiled. “From our ballroom dancing class,” he said, wiping his face dry.

“We were maniacs,” she said, setting the picture frame back down.

“We were good.” Davis reached down and turned the frame slightly, putting it back exactly as it was before she'd disturbed it.

“Who's this?” she asked, pointing to another picture of a glamorous woman singing next to a piano.

“That's Jack's mother, Candace,” he answered with a smile. “She has her own cabaret act in this really cool jazz club in Chicago, been doing it for years. We still talk once a week or so.”

“That's strange,” Deseree said, running her fingers over the top of the table, “still having a relationship with your ex-lover's mother.”

“We're still close.” He turned and headed into the kitchen. He picked an open bottle of wine up off the counter and yanked the cork out. “Although I don't understand why she didn't call me to warn me about the Toad,” he added, putting the bottle to his lips and taking a big swig.

“Why yes, I'd love a glass, thanks,” Deseree said with a smirk.

“Sorry.” Davis pulled a couple of glasses out of the cabinet. He walked back into the living room and flopped down on the sofa, then filled each glass with wine.

“Jack's her son, Davis,” she said, lingering at the photos a moment longer before joining him on the sofa. “If you and she are still friends, perhaps she's trying not to get involved.”

He handed her a wineglass and leaned back into the sofa as Deseree took a drink. Her eyes widened as she quietly spit the wine back into the glass. She looked at the glass funny and set it down on the coffee table.

“Maybe,” Davis said, staring out the windows. “But she was really upset with Jack when we broke up. I'd like to think she's on my side, but maybe she likes the stupid Toad. Jack did say she introduced them.”

“So what's your plan?” Deseree asked, leaning back and resting her cheek on Davis's chest. “Are you gonna scratch Toad's eyes out and throw him in a pool?”

“Of course not.” Davis put his arm around her and pulled her into him. “After you work your magic on me, all it will take is Jack and me being in the same room.”

“I hope for your sake you're right,” Deseree said, closing her eyes with a big yawn.

“Jack just needs to be reminded of what we had,” Davis said, looking down at her and smiling. Seeing she'd fallen asleep, he reached down with his free hand and brushed a stray curl off her face. He looked back up facing the windows. “So that's what we're going to do, you and me. Show him what he's been missing.”

As he listened to Deseree's breathing slow and regulate, he thought back to the comment she'd made about it being six years since he and Jack had stopped seeing each other. He wondered how it was even possible that much time had gone by without his realizing. His chest began to ache and he shut his eyes, squeezing them tight. In the back of his mind, he'd always felt as if he and Jack were still together. Just on a break of sorts. But not once had he ever really considered the fact that they wouldn't get back together. Random memories flooded his mind in a slide show. He smiled thinking about their first date. He'd been so nervous, but even that early in their history he'd felt an undercurrent flowing through his body that told him his life was about to change in ways he'd never even imagined it could.

Ten years ago

“You have
got
to calm down,” Deseree said, tying her hair back into a ponytail. “You're turning completely red all over.”

“I can't help it,” Davis said, pacing back and forth in their dorm room. “I feel all angsty.” He fanned his face with his hand and looked down at his chest and stomach.

Their dorm room had two single beds pressed up against opposite walls. Davis had a plain brown comforter and a pillow on his bed, and Deseree's bed was piled high with throw pillows and had a pale blue, shiny, silklike duvet cover filled with a fluffy down comforter. There was one wood nightstand between the beds with a round porcelain table lamp and two alarm clocks sitting on top. The concrete block walls were painted white, and curtains in a fabric matching Deseree's bedding hung over the one window. Deseree had
Titanic
and
Good Will Hunting
movie posters hanging on the wall above her bed, and spread across the top of it were several vintage
Vogue
and
Harper's Bazaar
magazines from the 1950s. Davis had spotted them in an antique store and bought them for her earlier that day.

On the opposite wall was a large antique partners' desk. They'd found it together and bought it, along with two wooden chairs that had come out of an old school. One end was pushed up against the wall, so they each had access to their own side of the desk. Davis's side was all very neat and organized, while Deseree had sketches, colored pencils, and wadded-up pieces of paper littering her side.

Davis stopped pacing, holding out a hand as if to balance himself. “I feel like I might pass out.”

“Good Lord,” she said, picking up one of the magazines and getting up off the bed. She stood in front of Davis, fanning him with it. “You look like you're breaking out in a rash.”

“I know.” Davis turned to look in the mirror. “I can't go. I look wretched. Call him and tell him I'm sick.”

“It's too late,” Deseree said, shaking her head while fanning him. “He could be here any minute.”

“I'm not ready for this,” he said, beginning to hyperventilate.

“It's just a date, for Christ's sake,” Deseree said, laughing. “Sit down and put your head between your legs.”

Davis did as she ordered. Deseree tossed the magazine down and went over to the minifridge, from which she extracted a can of Diet Coke. She walked over to his bed and placed the can on the back of his neck.

Davis let out a long groan. “That feels good.”

“Just breathe slowly.”

“I don't know what it is, but this doesn't feel…casual,” Davis said. “When I see him or think about him…I get this feeling. It goes through me all the way down to the bone. Like…like he's going to completely change my world. Alter my universe to the point that I can never go back.”

“It's going to be okay,” Deseree said, lightly running her hand along his back. “I promise you, it will all be okay.

Davis sat up, and she looked over him. She got onto his bed on her knees and set the soda down. She began massaging his shoulders and he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh.

“See there,” Deseree said. “The redness is beginning to fade.”

“I feel better. Thank you.”

“You're going to go and have a nice dinner,” she said, massaging the back of his neck. “You'll talk and flirt and laugh and get to know one another…simple.”

“You're right,” Davis said, and his eyes popped open as he heard the knock at the door. He stood up and headed toward it.

“Shirt.” Deseree picked it up off the bed.

“Oh, right,” he said, smiling as he took it from her and slid it on. He walked to the door, buttoning it and shoving it into the waist of his jeans. He took a deep breath, exhaling as he opened the door. He felt his face flush as he smiled uncontrollably.

“Hello, beautiful,” Jack said, standing in front of him, holding a single white rose by the stem. He had the bud resting on his chin and he winked, smiling up at Davis. Jack was dressed in an old pair of blue jeans that seemed almost strategically worn in the areas where you'd want others' eyes to be drawn, along with a thick off-white knit sweater. The sweater looked old and worn in an appealing, comfy way. It fit loosely through his midsection but showed off his well-defined chest and shoulders. The sleeves were a little too long and they bunched up slightly falling into his elbows. He looked like a live-action statue of
David
, only in full color as opposed to carved out of white marble. He had large brown eyes, high cheekbones, defined chin, full lips, and wavy black hair.

Davis melted, taking the rose as Jack held it out for him. “You look amazing.”

“I was going to get a red rose,” Jack said, entering the room as Davis stood back, holding the door for him to pass, “but I saw that one and, I don't know, it made me think of you.”

“Hi, Jack,” Deseree said, smiling up from her bed and cracking open the can of soda.

“Hey.” Jack glanced down over some of her sketches on the desk. “Those look great.”

“Thanks,” she said, twisting her hand back and forth. “I was just messing around.”

“It's perfect,” Davis said, placing the flower to his nose and smiling as Jack turned to face him. “You're perfect,” he added, shrugging and turning red again.

“You are adorable,” Jack said, reaching up and placing the back of his hand on Davis's red cheek. “Always blushing.”

His hand felt cool on Davis's face. Davis closed his eyes for a second, leaning into the caress slightly.

“If you leave it on the desk I'll put it in some water,” Deseree said, grinning.

“Thanks. Guess we should go?”

“Sure,” Davis said, setting down the rose.

“Good-bye,” Deseree called out as the door closed behind them. “Homos,” she added, shaking her head. “Drama, drama, drama.”

They walked down the dormitory hallway, and Jack followed Davis down the two flights of stairs. He grinned, letting his gaze settle on Davis's ass. They went out the doors into the cool fall night air, and Jack put his hand on Davis's shoulder to lead him in the opposite direction.

Davis felt chills run across his skin from Jack's touch, and he blushed again, thankful Jack couldn't see his crimson cheeks as they walked along the dimly lit sidewalk.

They made general chitchat as they walked to the Greek restaurant just off the far side of campus. Jack talked about the musical
Hairspray
, which he was going to be in that semester, playing the part of Corny Collins. He was looking forward to learning the music and all the choreography. They had a new music theater professor, and Jack seemed extremely excited by her. She was younger, in her late twenties, and Jack said he felt as though she had a ton of fresh ideas.

Davis sat back, letting Jack do most of the talking during dinner. He didn't know much about theater or musicals, other than some old Technicolor and black-and-white movie musicals he'd seen on TV. Davis loved to listen to Jack talk, the sound of his voice like velvet. His face became so animated and alive as he told stories about the theater and about other productions he'd been involved with.

The lights in the restaurant were low and the amber glass candle on the table flickered as the waitress took away their dinner plates. Drips of condensation ran down the glass as Davis picked up his soda and took a sip from the straw. He leaned back into the green vinyl booth and smiled back at Jack, who looked into his eyes.

“You don't talk much,” Jack said, pushing a stray piece of silverware to the side.

“Oh, sorry,” Davis said, looking down as he wiped the Formica tabletop with his paper napkin. “I just…I like listening to you.”

Jack giggled, realizing he'd embarrassed Davis. “Well, I love to talk, so we'll get along famously.”

Davis smiled, looking back up at him. “I'm sorry. I'm nervous.”

“I realize that,” Jack said, grinning. “And stop apologizing, I'm already crazy about you and I barely know you, so relax.”

“Okay,” Davis said, turning red again for the hundredth time as he smiled.
He likes you, dimwit, so just chill
. “I haven't really done this before, you know.”

“Done what?” Jack asked, smiling as Davis looked down at the table.

“Gone on dates,” Davis said, looking up to see if Jack would freak out.

“Not even in high school?” He was wide-eyed. “Like with a girl?”

“Nope,” Davis said, scrunching up his face. “It's weird, I know.”

“But you're so hot,” Jack said with a half smile. “I don't believe it.”

“I was kind of a nerd in school,” Davis said, tilting his head to the side. “Always had my nose stuck in some old history book. There was a guy I liked, though.”

“Really,” Jack said, leaning forward a little. “I hate him already.”

“No need,” Davis said, chuckling. “He did football, as well as girls.”

Jack smiled and then his mouth fell open. “Wait, are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“I don't know,” Davis said, panicking. “What do you think I'm saying?”

“That you're a…virgin?” Jack asked, eyes bulging as Davis bit his lip and turned beet red. The corners of Jack's mouth turned up and he added, “Holy shit.”

“You're right,” Davis said, looking down at the table. “I'm sorry. I should have said so before agreeing to go out with you. It's just that I get sick to my stomach when I'm with you, and…wait…that didn't…shit.”

Jack laughed out loud, startling Davis.
Way to go, idiot. Tell the guy he makes you sick
.

“I really like you,” Davis said, shrugging. “A lot. I guess I hoped you'd get to know me, and it wouldn't matter that I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.”

“Oh, baby,” Jack said, leaning forward and placing an elbow on the table. “I don't care about that. I can show you what to do. I'd love to show you what to do.”

Davis felt Jack place his other hand on his knee under the table. His mouth fell open slightly, and he immediately felt his cock begin to stir between his legs. His chest began to fill with pressure as the waitress came up and dropped the check on the table. Jack removed his hand and leaned to the side, taking his wallet out of his back pocket. He was still smiling from ear to ear and laughed again, pulling some bills out and placing them on the table.

“Come on, Casanova,” he said, getting out of the booth.

Davis got up and followed him out of the restaurant. Back in the cool night air, Davis began to relax again and Jack reached up and mussed his hair a little before tossing his arm on Davis's shoulder. “You can come back to my room, and I'll teach you a few things?”

“What about your roommate?” Davis asked, stopping as panic swept over his whole body.

“Calm down, Gidget,” Jack said. “I have a single, so no roomie, and I won't do anything you're uncomfortable with.”

“Oh,” Davis said, as they began walking again. His heart began racing, and he felt his cock begin to twitch as he thought about being alone with Jack.

“You practically went into fight-or-flight mode, there,” Jack said, giggling. “We don't have to go back to my room. We could go somewhere else.”

“No,” Davis said, “I'm sorry. I want to.”
He's going to kiss me. Fuck, what if I'm a terrible kisser?

“Okay, and stop saying you're sorry,” Jack said, squeezing his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Davis said, beginning to chuckle as the wind blew across his face.

* * *

Jack's room was the same size as the one he shared with Deseree, but he had a full-size bed. There was a small dresser on one wall with a TV and DVD player on top and an armoire in the corner. Davis sighed, a little relieved, thinking it probably wasn't his intention to bring him back here; Jack's bed hadn't been made. The covers were tossed open on one side and the sheets looked a little rumpled. A wicker hamper stood in the corner next to the closet, filled with dirty clothes. Jack flipped on the lamp next to his bed and asked Davis to turn off the overhead light. He pulled the comforter up and smoothed it out a little.