The Coil (7 page)

“No touch the glass!”

The gentleman’s gruff and accented command startled both Simon and Jamie. Simon looked at the guy, more than a little annoyed that he’d spoken so sharply to his son, and Jamie turned his face away, against his father’s shoulder.

“Pick sandwich.”

Simon could only blink at the completely ridiculous man. Whether this stranger did not possess an “indoor” voice, or was just naturally rude, he had no idea. He opened his mouth to tell him to keep it down—he could already hear Jamie begin to hum unhappily—but the dour-looking guy continued, picking up a sesame seed bun and slicing it in half.

“The boy like pickle? I make pickle sandwich for him.”

Simon sputtered and rubbed Jamie’s back soothingly. He was about to tell the guy to shove his pickle sandwich when movement at the “Employees Only” door caught his eye. He watched as the person he’d for a long time harbored a crush on strode over, dropped his backpack, and clapped a hand on the rude man’s shoulder.

“How’s it going, Jules?”

“I make pickle sandwich for the boy.”

Mattie looked up and offered him an apologetic smile. Simon shifted Jamie on his hip nervously.

“Why don’t you let me do this one before I head off? I’m sure someone needs their coffee topped up.”

That’s when Simon noticed the casual attire. He wore jeans with a rip in the knee that fit like a glove, a plain heather gray T-shirt that hugged his sides and upper arms perfectly, and a black string necklace tight around his throat with two beads in the middle. He must have been on his way out, and though he looked casual enough, he was downright drop-your-pants-on-command gorgeous.

“Sorry about Jules. I’m heading off early tonight so he’s covering for me. We don’t usually let him out of the kitchen.”

Simon laughed and found himself smiling brightly. “Oh, that’s….” He waved it off. “It’s fine, honestly. Where’s he from, anyway?”

“Really? We have no idea, but he makes a great omelet, so….” Mattie shrugged and gave Simon a crooked smile as he leaned both hands on the counter.

“Well, um, thanks. Don’t think Jamie liked that fella too much. Did ya?” He pulled his head back to speak to his son. Jamie had stopped humming, something he tended to do before his prime numbers came out to play, but he wouldn’t look at either of them.

“Sorry, he’s kind of shy,” Simon explained.

“Aw, that’s okay, Jamie,” Mattie said brightly, completely friendly, and then continued in a hushed, conspiring voice. “Sometimes Jules is kind of rude, but he’s just a big teddy bear, really.”

Simon knew no reply would be coming from his son and was about to apologize further, but Mattie interrupted him, taking the beginnings of a pickle sandwich and swiping it into a bin under the counter.

“I know what this little guy wants,” he said as he pulled on some hygiene gloves and untwisted a bag to pull out two slices of white bread. “You want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

Simon looked in the glass case. “I don’t see that in there.”

“That’s because we only keep it for our very favorite customers.” Mattie winked and pulled the jars out of a small fridge behind him. “And don’t worry; it’s the smooth kind of peanut butter. I’ve seen the little guy eat in here enough times to know he doesn’t like lumps in his food.”

Simon blinked in surprise. He looked down and was pleased to see that Jamie—although he wouldn’t speak or look Mattie in the eye—was watching his every move as he made his sandwich.

“And I’m guessing that you like it without crusts?” he asked as he carefully sliced off the crusts and then cut the sandwich into two perfect triangles and placed them on a plate.

“What do you say, Jamie?” Simon asked, flabbergasted.

“Thank you,” came the quiet response.

“No problem, kiddo. Oh, no—” Mattie waved him off as Simon began to dig in his back pocket for his wallet. “It’s on me.”

“A-are you sure?” Simon stuttered in surprise.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

He watched as Mattie tugged off the gloves and pulled his backpack up onto one shoulder, walking to the part of the counter that swiveled up for staff to walk through, and felt his cheeks heat slightly when Mattie took the plate and nodded toward the booths.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full. Let me take this over for you.”

Simon smiled his thanks, picked up their bags, and carried them, and Jamie, over to his usual booth, where Mr. Too-Good-To-Be-True set the plate down in front of his son.

“Thanks, that’s real nice of you. Shame you’re heading off, otherwise I’d ask you to take a seat and join us.”

A somewhat surprised and pleased smile spread across Mattie’s face, and he dug his hands deep into his pockets. Simon was utterly charmed.

“That’d be real nice, but, uh, I gotta take off. Maybe another time?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m Simon, by the way.” He held his hand out and Mattie took it, shaking it once but holding on a second longer than was necessary.

“I’m Mattie, Mattie Green.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Mattie.”

“Yeah.” Mattie practically beamed. “Yeah, you too. I’ll um… I’ll see you around, then.” Mattie ducked his head but kept his distance from Jamie. “Bye, Jamie, enjoy the chow.”

To Simon’s utter surprise, though Jamie didn’t look away from his plate, he said good-bye around a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly. He smiled at Mattie, thinking how unaware he must be of how very special an individual he was to even garner a response from his boy, and then watched him walk out of the diner with another quick wave over one shoulder.

“Nice man.”

Simon’s head snapped back to Jamie. “What was that?” he asked, pleased with his son’s uninvited comment, but no response came, and he leaned back against the booth as he watched his son wolf down his specially made sandwich.

M
ATTIE
damn near floated as he approached the apartment block, his brief conversation with who he now knew to be Simon and Jamie replaying in his head. Ty would be so damn smug when he told him about it tomorrow.

Stopping outside the building and looking at the familiar buzzer, he stored away the pleasant memory, shrugged into what he hoped was an impassive persona, and buzzed. A voice crackled over the speaker.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Justin,” Mattie replied. He never gave a john his real name.

No response came, but he was buzzed in. He took the stairs slowly, just wishing the evening was over with, and knocked on the door. The door opened, and one of his regulars stood there, moving aside to let him in without a greeting. The apartment was nice. Nicer than his place, anyway, but that wasn’t saying much. The kitchen had black polished counters and every kind of appliance imaginable. The bathroom had a large bath with jets and a shower stall. The living room boasted the largest flat screen TV he’d ever seen, and a leather couch and chairs. He’d only ever seen all this in passing, however, and walked straight on into the one room he
was
familiar with. The bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, dumping his backpack and leaning back on his hands as he waited. He could hear the guy tinkering about in the kitchen with something and sighed with boredom
.

Come on, already.

He just wanted to blow the guy, get his ticket, and get out. He looked at the door when a shadow fell across the bed, and raised an eyebrow in question. The guy was six four, six five, maybe. He was heavyset, with dark hair that was receding, and had pockmarks on his cheeks. Not his type at all, but he certainly paid well. Fifty dollars for a hand job and sixty dollars for a blowjob. What he didn’t like was his smarmy attitude, like he was used to being in charge. He thought he’d heard him on the phone once talking about a publisher or something, and figured he must be some sort of journalist. He’d snuck a glance at his mail once on the kitchen table, and at least knew his real name.

Andrew Camp already had his pants undone and was stroking his unimpressive erection as he walked over to where Mattie sat on the bed.

“Got something for you.” He smirked.

Lucky me.

“Open those lips for daddy. I want you to hold still while I fuck that pretty face.”

“Rubber,” was Mattie’s only reply.

Mattie watched dispassionately as Andrew rolled on the rubber, and spread his knees for the larger man to stand between them, his cock now in direct line with his mouth. He closed his eyes, but was ordered to open them and watch as Andrew held the base of his cock and then, none too gently, tapped it against Jamie’s face.

“Dirty cocksucker.”

Mattie’s fingers gripped the bedspread tight, willing his mind to wander away as he felt the fat head of the short, stubby penis rub over his lips, the scent of latex assaulting him.

“Open up. Come on, take it.”

Mattie opened his mouth and forced himself to look as if he was enjoying the feel of the asshole’s cock roughly thrusting in and brushing the back of his throat, or at the very least, he attempted to appear as if he didn’t hate it. He much preferred it when they’d just lie down with their head back and eyes closed to let him get on with it, but not this guy.

“Oh fuck,
yesss,
” he hissed, gripping the back of Mattie’s head and slamming in forcefully two, three more times before spurting his load into the rubber.

Mattie pulled away as quickly as he was able, taking a deep breath and inching away when Andrew made to stroke his hand through his now messed up hair. Andrew took the hint. Oddly enough, once he’d blown his load, he was less of an asshole and almost polite.

“Money’s on the kitchen counter. Help yourself to a drink before you leave if you like.”

Mattie watched as Andrew stripped off and headed to the bathroom.

“W-wait, um….”

Andrew turned, raised an eyebrow. “What?” He smirked. “Finally gonna let me fuck you?”

Mattie shook his head. “You know I don’t do that.”

The taller man continued to strip off and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know. For a prostitute, you’re not the most adventurous in the bedroom.”

He squeezed his eyes shut a second. “The ticket? You said if I came over last thing I could have a ticket to the art exhibition tomorrow? I left work early so I could—”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s on the table next to the cash. I wasn’t going to rip you off, kid.”

Mattie stood and picked up his backpack, muttering his thanks. He kept walking as Andrew called after him.

“If you see me talking to someone there tomorrow, probably best to act like you don’t know me unless I approach you.”

Mattie rolled his eyes, counted the cash, and stashed the ticket in his back pocket. “Like I’d acknowledge you for free,” he muttered as he let himself out of the apartment.

It was done. He’d be able to buy himself two new canvases, and he’d scored a ticket to an exhibition. He headed down the stairs, taking two at a time.

He could feel it, the coil inside of him. It pulled tight, chafing and burning. He knew he could justify it to himself all he wanted, but the transaction was dirty, made him feel as if he weren’t quite a part of the human race like everyone else.

He’d go home, do at least half an hour of his reading assignment, tune the radio into the jazz station he liked, and then paint for a few hours. Maybe then the coil would loosen its grip.

Chapter Three

I
T
’
D
been a while since Simon had actually given any thought to his appearance. Usually he’d just throw on what he had clean and pressed, run a hand through his hair, and he was done. Tonight, however, he was hoping would involve some adult conversation, and so he’d paid a little extra care to his appearance. He wore a simple outfit, nothing ostentatious. Just his good shoes, some khaki pants, a crisp button-down and tie, and a sports jacket. He’d even gone as far as to get his hair trimmed, and had picked up his new glasses.

Not bad, Simon. Looking dapper.

He rolled his eyes.
Who says “dapper” anymore?

Hearing a giggle coming from the kitchen, he gave himself a final glance in the mirror and followed the laughter into the room. Sarah stood leaning against the counter, smiling at Jamie as she stirred a bowl of pudding and listened to him chatter about something to do with class that day.

He took a moment to reflect that, in another life, this would have been one of those Hallmark moments you hear about so often or see on those greeting cards. In another life he would walk over to Sarah and dip his finger in the pudding. She would swat at him and call him mischievous, but then turn her cheek to him for a kiss. Another life where he was straight and Jamie wasn’t autistic and everything was just easy.

Jamie looked over his shoulder. Smiled at him.

This life was just fine.

“Are you off?” said Sarah.

Simon patted his pockets, checking that he had his wallet and keys and ticket. He nodded and looked around the kitchen. Had he forgotten something? Surely there was something else that needed doing before he left for the evening.