(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (6 page)

He needed to get out and blow off steam. He didn’t have the energy for via Padova and the bar scene tonight, but he knew a park only a few subway stops away that would do just as well. After downing another drink, his fourth that day, he stopped fighting the urge. He didn’t even bother to change his clothes—Antonio’s clothes, really. He just shoved a few condoms into his pocket, threw on his jacket, grabbed his keys and some cash, and he was out the door.

It was far colder than three nights before, but the frigid air did nothing to dampen Cary’s anticipation. The subway was bright and relatively clean, in stark contrast to the dimly lit and slightly seedy park. It always struck Cary as ironic that the park abutted a tiny church. By day, children played as their parents looked on. At night, hustlers did a brisk business.

The last time he’d come here, he fucked a pretty kid behind a large tree. Tonight, he just wanted to get fucked. His body thrummed with need: the raw, demanding kind that could only be satisfied by having a hard dick in his ass. No lube—he needed to feel the burn. He was half-hard already, just in anticipation.

He thought of Antonio and just as quickly pushed the image away. He didn’t need a perfect man, just someone to satisfy him. And it was a hell of a lot easier like that, wasn’t it?

“Can I help you, signore?” The kid was young, but not too young. Twenty-three, he guessed. Tall, attractive, with wavy dark hair, he wore a T-shirt at least a size too small, his jacket open so Cary could see the outline of the kid’s nipples through the fabric.

When Cary didn’t answer, the newcomer licked his lips suggestively and indicated the small maintenance shed a few yards away, then sauntered over to it. Cary followed as he watched the too-tight jeans and the tempting ass they outlined.

Oh yeah, this was what he needed. Forget the uptight lawyer with the perfect life, his perfect apartment, and his perfect kid. Antonio didn’t want him, anyhow, so why try to fool himself?

Chapter 6

W
HO
’
S
THE
C
LOWN
?

H
E
AWOKE
to the angry buzz of his cell phone on the table by his bed. His ass ached, but his head hurt more. The pain in his wrist had returned with a vengeance. He had forgotten to take his meds the night before, and the alcoholic buzz was long gone, replaced by a sour taste in his mouth and a killer hangover. He smelled cigarette smoke on himself. He remembered now—the kid hadn’t had any smokes, so he had bought a pack at the
tabaccheria
down the street. It lay, half-empty, on the nightstand.

“Yeah?” Cary grumbled as he tapped the phone in irritation. He closed his eyes to block out the sunlight. He should have shut the stupid phone off when he stumbled in at three in the morning.

“You must get lots of compliments about your phone persona,” said the voice on the other end.

“Antonio?” Cary reminded himself that Antonio had said he was going to call to check on him in the morning, and tried not to get his hopes up.

“Good morning to you too, Connor. Are you always so agreeable in the mornings?” There was a trace of humor in Antonio’s voice.

“Sorry,” Cary said. “Late night.” He closed his eyes again and imagined Antonio, dressed for work in an expensive suit that skimmed the muscular planes of his body. A starched white shirt, open at the collar. Antonio’s Adam’s apple and the indentation below, at his throat.

“I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay. I needed to get up.” Normally, Cary would have been up hours ago, even after a late night. He always got more practicing done first thing in the morning, even with a hangover. “What’s up?”

“I just spent an hour listening to my son go on about the ‘funny American’. Says you’re his new best friend. Something about an airplane?”

Little stinker wakes me up and now I’m his hero?

“I managed to get dive-bombed a few times.”

“Francesca says you two get along well.”

“I hate kids.”

“That’s not what I hear. Francesca said you were really good with Massi, and he’s not always the easiest to please.”

“Must be my stellar personality.”

“Of course.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed as Cary struggled to find another snappy comeback and came up empty. He didn’t think well hungover.

“Listen, Connor,” Antonio said. “I was going to come over and check on you, but you didn’t leave an address.”

“Nothing to worry about here. I’m fine.” Cary ignored the implied question. “There’s someone here to help, if I need it.”

“Oh.”

There was a hint of disappointment in Antonio’s voice Cary couldn’t help but notice.

Maybe he’s more interested than he lets on.
The thought made Cary shiver, and he imagined himself on that big bed, Antonio’s cock in his ass and those big hands on his waist, the sound of their skin slapping…. Or maybe the other way around? For Antonio, he’d gladly top.

“Connor?”

“Hmm?” Cary hadn’t heard a word of what Antonio said. “Sorry, Antonio,” he said, adjusting himself in his briefs. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I… I’ve gotten myself into a little bit of a jam.”

“I thought that’s what people hire lawyers for.”

“Thanks for the help.” Antonio chuckled. “No, this jam comes just about up to my waist and likes metal airplanes.”

“I told you I hate kids.”

“Funny thing about dogs, cats, and kids,” Antonio replied, “they always seem to want to be with the people who hate them the most.”

“No kidding. So what did you do? Rent me out for babysitting?”

“Not exactly. But Francesca just happened to mention to Massimo that there’s a circus downtown this weekend, and I was thinking of taking Massi on Saturday—”

“You mean with clowns?” It was the only thing Cary’s sleep-deprived brain could think of.

“They usually have clowns,” Antonio said with a gentle chuckle.

“And candy apples?” The vague memory of his mother buying him and Justin bright-red candy apples on sticks made Cary’s mouth water.

“Apples? Why would there be apples at a circus? Circuses have clowns and animals and people flying about in the air.”

“So what do I have to do with the circus?” Cary wasn’t going to try to explain the apples. Apparently the tradition was not an Italian one.

“It seems Massi has gotten it into his head that clowns are American.”

Cary laughed. “Maybe he’s been watching too much CNN reporting about things in Washington.”

“Those clowns aren’t very funny. I think it has more to do with the bruises on your face and something Francesca told him about clown makeup.”

“You’re joking.”

“Hardly.”

“I still don’t see where this is going,” Cary put in. He was enjoying the banter, but he was now completely lost.

Another reason to hate kids.

“I tried to explain to him that the clowns in Italy are Italian,” Antonio replied. “I think, in the end, he finally understood.”

Good. A tiny island of clarity in a sea of otherwise incomprehensible explanations.

“I still don’t understand.”

“He wants you to come along.”

“To the circus?”

“That was the general idea.” Antonio laughed and then sighed into the receiver. “I told him you weren’t feeling well and you needed your rest, so I’m sure he’ll understand if you can’t come.”

Cary realized with sudden clarity that it wasn’t the kid who wanted him to come.
Antonio
wanted him to come.

Maybe the entire fucked-up weekend wasn’t such a waste of time, after all.

“Tell him the American clown would love to come along.”

“Really?”

“Really. It sounds like fun. I can’t remember the last time I went to a circus.” Cary thought the older Bianchi sounded at least as happy as Massimo might be.

“Then we’ll pick you up at your place around two on Saturday, if that works for you.”

Shit.
Cary had forgotten
that
little complication. “No need to do that.” He tried to sound casual. “I’ve got a few errands to run near your apartment. Why don’t I just meet you there?”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“I’m… I mean ‘we’ are looking forward to it.”

Cary tapped the cell phone and leaned back on the pillows with a knowing smile.
He definitely wants to see me again.
The thought both scared and excited him.

“
C
ONNORE!” A pint-sized flurry of blond curls flew at him as he stood in the doorway of Antonio’s apartment. “Papà said you were coming!”

Cary winced as Massimo grabbed onto his left arm to drag him inside.

“Massimo,” came Antonio’s stern voice from behind the boy, “remember how I told you Signor Taylor got hurt last week? You have to be gentle with him.”

“I’m sorry, Connore.” Massimo’s big blue eyes were full of shame. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Cary lied and thought he should take another pain pill before they got going, or he’d be in agony by the end of the day. Why had he agreed to this again? Oh yeah. The gorgeous guy standing behind the bratty kid, watching him with something like…
interest
? Cary wore a fitted shirt and snug jeans. Had Antonio noticed?

Don’t you
dare
blush!

Cary looked down at Massimo and smiled mechanically as he struggled to maintain his composure. When he caught Antonio’s expression again, he saw only friendship there.

“Good to see you, Connor.” Antonio swept Massimo up into his arms and flung him over one shoulder to the sound of squeals and giggles. “I apologize for this one,” he added as he tickled the squirming five-year-old. “He’s just a little excited about this afternoon.”

Cary tried to look nonplussed as Antonio set Massimo down. “Now go to the bathroom and then put your shoes on. We’ll be going in a few minutes.”

“I’m really not good with kids.”
Or their hot-as-hell fathers.

“You’re doing great,” Antonio told him, and Cary sincerely hoped he was, on both accounts. “I appreciate your coming with us today. Francesca is working on a show this afternoon, and I told her I’d keep Massi busy.”

“She’s lucky she has you to help.”

Antonio gestured Cary inside the apartment. “No,” Antonio said, his eyes full of warmth, “I’m the lucky one. When she asked me to have a child with her, I never realized how much I would enjoy being a father.”

Cary was beginning to understand. Italy wasn’t exactly the most progressive country when it came to homosexuality. Francesca and Marissa would never have been able to adopt a child here.

“It was very nice of Francesca to feed me breakfast the other day,” Cary said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills. “Would you mind giving this to her? She gave me money for the cab home, and I wanted to pay her back.”

“Of course.” Antonio took the money, his fingers brushing Cary’s. Cary repressed a shiver at the touch. Antonio turned and walked over to the side table, putting the bills down there.

“How does your family feel about your being a father?” Cary did his best to distract himself from his view of the back of Antonio’s neck. From this angle, Cary saw the muscles that ran from below his ears to his shoulders, and the outline of Antonio’s spine beneath the smooth skin. He imagined himself biting and licking at that skin. He was thankful he had worn his shirt outside of his jeans; he got hard just with the thought.

“My mother was beside herself when I told her,” Antonio said as he joined Cary by the door once more. “She had pretty much given up on me ever having children, although she has plenty of grandchildren. But I’m the only son.”

“Are you out to your family?”

“Since
scuola superiore
, your high school,” Antonio explained. “I am fortunate in that, as well.”

“Really? I mean, even in the States….”

“My mother was born in Italy, but her family was German and very open-minded. My father wasn’t as accepting, but he loved my mother.” Antonio laughed. “She’s a stubborn woman. He had no choice but to tolerate me. Eventually, I think he even came to terms with it.”

“That’s good.” Cary swallowed and looked briefly at the floor. He was surprised to realize that he envied Antonio. His own experience with his mother hadn’t gone nearly as well. At the thought of his mother, Cary tensed his jaw, and forced the memory away.

That was a long time ago.

“S
O
,” A
NTONIO
said as they stood at the line for the concession counter an hour later, “do you have family in the States?”

“A brother,” Cary explained. “He lives in St. Louis, Missouri. Married with three kids. All boys. I get to see them from time to time. My dad died when I was a baby, and my mom died when I was in college.”

“That must have been difficult, losing both your parents when you were young.”