From Morocco to Paris (24 page)

“So,” Davey said softly, “will you miss me?”

Zane looked over at him. Davey had a glass of soda water from the little snack bar across the room, the closest thing they had to ginger ale.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because.” Davey’s gaze fell on the envelope. “You’re pretty excited about moving on. But then you did explain how it works, back in Cairo.” He took a sip, gazing at Zane over the rim of the glass.

Zane considered how to answer. He could say something sarcastic or sentimental -- instead, he decided to be honest.

“I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“All right.”

They sat in silence for a while, Zane staring out the window next to them, Davey sipping his drink. Davey had his legs crossed, and he brushed his foot against Zane’s calf. They were alone in the lounge and Zane didn’t mind.

“Thank you,” Davey finally said, drawing Zane’s attention from the window. “For the plane. Everything you did for me.”

“You would have done it for me,” Zane said. “Wanna go back upstairs and lay down?”

“I think so. Stay with me?”

“I could be persuaded.”

Davey ordered a wake-up call, but Zane set the alarm on his phone as well, because he had a habit of saying “uh huh” to the person giving the wake-up call and then going back to sleep.

About twenty minutes after they settled down, Davey got up and rushed to the bathroom. Apparently, soup and soda weren’t a good idea. Zane found a rag and wiped Davey’s mouth and face after he got done puking, then led him back to bed.

“It’s my turn to be the nursemaid,” he said as he slid in next to Davey and tucked him in. “Thankfully there’s no gauze involved.”

“Tell me a story,” Davey said weakly as he wedged himself into the crook of Zane’s arm.

Zane snorted.

“I mean it,” Davey said. “I wanna hear a story.”

“I don’t know any stories.”

“You’re a hillbilly who works in the movie business. How do you not know any stories? Make something up.”

Zane tried to think of a story. He lay half-propped on the pillows, Davey snuggled against him.

“All right, but it’ll be stupid.”

“Of course it will. I don’t care.”

“Thanks for your confidence.”

“Just tell the story.”

“All right.” Zane settled himself down, getting comfortable. “Once upon a time, there was this…this prince, but he was a fucking disgrace to his royal name. He was a total drunk and a womanizer. He got around all over the place.”

“Oh, I know him,” Davey murmured.

“Yes. He had a good heart, but it wasn’t always in the right place. Then one day, he met this -- gypsy. Real smooth talker, could sell you a line of bullshit just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “He had a sharp tongue, real sassy. Knew what he wanted and was merciless until he got it.”

Davey let out a gust of air. “I know where this is going.”

Zane patted Davey’s forehead. “One day he and the prince met, at this play, put on by this big time playwright. They got hot for each other and ended up having all kinds of kinky sex.”

“Describe the sex,” Davey murmured. “That’s the best part.”

“I’m not gonna describe the sex. It’s enough to know there were lots of blowjobs, and hand jobs, and some anal. It was really hot.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the gypsy asked the prince if he was so unhappy putting on a front for all the people, why didn’t he just quit it? Just be what he was in his heart, forget the trappings of his princely life. And the prince told him it wasn’t that easy, you couldn’t just stop being a stately prince in one day, but the gypsy didn’t listen. He
never
listened.”

Zane paused. Davey didn’t say anything. His body had slowly gone slack.

“But still,” Zane went on, not sure if Davey had fallen asleep, “they had some good times together. That was the important part. They went to many lands together. To beaches, and deserts, and then a big city full of lights. They had many wonderful and not so wonderful adventures. One time the gypsy even whacked the prince in the face with a tray when the prince was just trying to make a beautiful, tender gesture.”

Davey’s breathing had grown soft and shallow. Zane stroked his hair. He lowered his voice, “Then came the day they had to say goodbye. The prince had to go live his dreams, and the gypsy had to chase his own desires. It was sad, but they carried with them in their hearts all the wonderful things they’d shared together. And of course they wrote lots of emails and dropped in to see each other every once in a while.”

Zane stopped stroking Davey’s hair and peeked down at his face. His eyes were closed, and his face in repose. Zane dropped his head back against the pillow and gazed up at the ceiling. He started stroking his hair again, gently, with two fingers. He spoke softly.

“But the prince never, ever got over him, hard as he tried.”

Chapter 19

“Aren’t you upset Davey’s best friend is coming?”

Zane and Ian sat in a café near the hotel, having breakfast. On the table next to Zane, a local entertainment paper lay open, most of the articles written in French. Zane didn’t need English, however, to see page two sported a huge picture of Elliot, in full costume, during shooting the day before near Champs-Elysees. Zane hovered in the background of the shot.

“Why would I be upset that Troy is coming?” Zane asked.

“You’ve only got a month left with Davey. Do you really want to spare a week of it to someone else?”

Zane studied the picture, a bad shot of Elliot and an even worse shot of him, huddled in his coat, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed with boredom. Ian, who spoke some French, told him underneath the picture the tag said, “Elliot Butler in Paris, working on Saul Brennan’s new epic.” Zane would show the picture to Elliot, let him get a laugh, then file the article in his binder.

“It’s not like he’s leaving,” Zane said. He folded up the paper and went back to his coffee and eggs. “And it’s not like we won’t be hanging out still.”

“But his friend will be there, all the time.” Ian’s expression made Zane uncomfortable. He looked like their father when he got all ominous.

“You’re here. All the time.” Zane took a sip of his coffee.

“Yes, but I know about you. You’re going to regret it if you waste one minute with him.”

“Listen.” Zane put his cup down, a bit harder than necessary. “You’ve never meddled in my love life before. Why are you doing it now?”

“You’ve never been with a guy before. It’s my area of expertise.”

“I’m going to tell you this one time,” Zane said. The picture, the early morning, and the never-ending nagging had finally stretched his nerves to the breaking point. “He is not my boyfriend, we’re not having some grand, majestic love affair, and we sure as hell aren’t making wedding plans. Stop trying to give me advice!”

“Just like you,” Ian said and shook his head. “You don’t even know what you have. You’re still worried Dad’s going to come around the corner with his belt.”

“This isn’t about Dad! This is about people who need to mind their own goddamn business!”

Ian leaned across the table. “If someone doesn’t step in you’re going to fuck it up. Do you know how many people would kill for a guy like Davey in their lives?”

“I know of at least one.”

Zane took a swift drink of his coffee and snatched up the paper.

“Oh yes, turn it around on me!” Ian’s voice rose as Zane stood up. “I guess you’ve forgotten about sobbing like a fucking baby on my shoulder in Cairo!”

“I’m not like you!” Zane yelled. People looked their way and Zane lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “I’m
not
.”

“Not ‘like me?’” Ian curled his upper lip, which made him look even more like their father. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I can’t go around showing it off to the world and not giving a fuck. The way you do. The way
Davey
does!” Zane pushed his chair in roughly. “Maybe the two of you
should
get together.”

“I would love to! He deserves someone who’ll treat him right. But he obviously fucking loves you, so there’s no accounting for taste!”

Zane stalked out of the café and marched back to the hotel. Crossing the street, he clenched the paper so tightly he heard it rip. Deep in his heart, he knew Ian was right and that made him even angrier. Still, he couldn’t deprogram a lifetime of negative values overnight. The thought of making his relationship with Davey public caused his skin to crawl and brought the anguish of his formative years racing to the front of his mind.

In the lobby of the hotel, Zane ran into Cristiano. They both stopped, staring at each other. Cristiano wore jeans and a dark blue sweater under a trim black coat, a duffel bag over his shoulder. He looked tired. And upset.

“Zane,” he said, with a high-pitched, quavering laugh. “Just on my way to set.”

“Oh.” Zane twisted the paper in his hands. They stood at an awkward distance from each other and Zane moved slowly toward him. “I’ll be there soon. Just waiting for Elliot. Is he up?”

Cristiano nodded, flicking his gaze to the floor. He fidgeted with the strap of his bag.

“Cristiano.” Zane took another step toward him, and Cristiano looked up. Zane struggled to find the right words. “I just want you to know, I’m not pissed off at you over what happened. It was just as much my fault.”

Cristiano pushed the bag up on his shoulder and looked down at the floor again. “I…” He glanced up. “I don’t blame you. It was a stupid thing for me to do. I was just…acting with my cock and not my brain.”

Zane almost laughed at the sound of such an uncouth word coming out of his mouth, but the gravity of the moment didn’t let him.

“It was my fault,” Zane said. “For trying to kiss you in the bathroom that night.”

“You didn’t throw yourself at me, like I did to you.”

“No, but it gave you the wrong idea. I was pissed off at Davey and my brother, and I was acting like a fool.”

“It’s clear neither one of us is going to let the other blame himself,” Cristiano said. “I hope you and Davey are working things out.” He smiled tightly.

“Time will tell.” Zane forced a smile in return. “What about you and Elliot? Does he…does he know? He hasn’t fired me yet, so I assume not.”

Cristiano looked down and shifted his jaw. He looked back up and his gaze had darkened. “We broke up.”

Zane stared at him. “What? When?”

“Just now. I broke it off with him. I just -- I can’t get involved with people I’m working with anymore.” He looked haunted, an unidentifiable emotion deeper than sadness glimmering in his eyes.

“But…” Zane couldn’t find words.

“It’s for the best, really.” Cristiano reached over and patted the back of Zane’s hand. His skin felt soft and cold. “You’re a good man, Zane. You’re a little confused, but it’s all right. Life is confusing.” His smile looked so sad Zane wondered how anyone could have such a conflicting expression. “Take care of Elliot for me? He’s going to be hurt and angry for a while, but he’ll be all right, in the end. I know he will.”

“You’ve been such a good friend to me,” Zane said. He still couldn’t get over his bewilderment. “No nagging or judging, just straightforward advice. I don’t want us to stop being friends. Can we quit being weird around each other?”

“I’d like that.”

The strange light still shone in Cristiano’s eyes. He looked like someone who had reached a wall and had to figure out a way to climb over.

“I can’t believe you and Elliot broke up.” Zane shook his head. “God, you guys were -- “

“Please.” Cristiano held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right. Still, I’m sorry.”

“I really do have to get to the set.”

“All right. I guess I’ll see you in a little bit, then. I’m glad we finally talked. Pretty stupid of us, huh?”

“Yes.” Cristiano smiled tightly again and then started across the lobby. Zane watched him go, experiencing both relief and a sensation like he’d been kicked in the stomach.

Zane headed upstairs, wondering how much damage control he’d have to do with Elliot. He decided to go to Davey’s room first and bolster himself for the drama.

Davey opened the door with his coat on. “We just got in. I’ll be ready in a few.”

Zane stepped in, checking his watch. “We’ve got forty-five minutes still.”

“I didn’t think we were going to get back in time,” Davey said, sounding out of breath. “Fucking airports. Something’s always delayed.” His illness had passed quickly. He had his usual vital glow back, as well as his sharp tongue. “Don’t just stand there like an idiot, come in and meet my friend!”

Zane stepped further into the room. A man with short, choppy, dirty-blond hair stood by the bed. He had an angular face with high cheekbones and dark eyes, and he looked older than Davey. He wore all black, jeans and a t-shirt, a wallet chain dangling on his hip. He rooted through an open suitcase on the bed.

“Troy, this is Zane Reed,” Davey said, working his coat off. “Zane, my best friend Troy MacClane.”

They shook hands.

“Nice to meet you, man,” Troy said.

“Likewise,” Zane said.

Davey dropped his coat in a chair. “Troy’s going to stay in my room, save some cash.” He breezed into the bathroom. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Zane?”

“Yeah, I’ll run right down to the front desk and alert them.”

“I figure I can crash on the sofa out there,” Davey’s voice drifted from the bathroom. “He can have the bed.”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Troy said back.

“Fuck you will! You’re sleeping on the bed, shut the fuck up.”

Troy smirked at Zane. “I feel for you, having to put up with that shit all the time.”

“I’ve gotten good at ignoring him.”

“I know you’re talking about me!” Davey called out.

Troy accompanied them to the set, as did Ian. Zane found Elliot, unsurprisingly, in a terrible mood, not wanting to talk, and insisting he wanted to be alone. Zane called him a car so he could go by himself, and the rest of them went in Ian’s rental. Zane dreaded what Ian might say to Troy. Ian said nothing to Zane.

“So, you’re a fashion designer?” Ian asked Troy. Ian maintained a polite and charming stance, but Zane had seen him scrutinizing Troy when they all met outside the hotel. “Do you live in Los Angeles?”

“San Francisco,” Troy said. He sat up front with Ian and Zane sat in the back with Davey. “And yeah, it’s one my many projects. I do some art too. And I muck around the movie business every now and then, doing odd jobs.”

“Interesting,” Ian said. “So, you and Davey are trying to start your own line?”

“That’s what he keeps saying.” Troy looked over his shoulder. “If I can get him to sit still for ten minutes and work on it.”

“I’m networking!” Davey said defensively. “Jobs like this will help us find the right people!”

“He has some great ideas,” Troy said, turning back around. “Especially when he’s stoned.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Davey said. “I’ve seen your paintings.”

“What do you paint?” Ian asked.

“Abstract,” Troy answered. “Lots of color and shape. I like to grab people in the gut.”

“He’s good,” Davey said. “Really out there, but that’s what art is all about. Stretching yourself. Pushing the boundaries.”

“Amen to that.” Troy held a hand up.

“I can see why you two are friends,” Zane said, not derisively but with real reverence.

“Aww.” Davey reached over and patted Zane on the cheek. “You’re so sweet.” Zane scowled and pushed his hand away. “Christ, what’s up your ass today?” Davey asked.

“Nothing.”

Shooting went poorly. Nothing seemed to fall into place and Saul had several rage-fueled outbursts. Everyone slowly degenerated into a bad mood -- except Davey, who kept trying to cheer Zane up with near constant needling and teasing. Elliot looked a mess. Cristiano kept a significant distance from him and sent others to work on his costume. Zane wanted to tell Davey about them, but there never seemed to be a right time.

Troy and Ian sat on the sidelines, chatting and seemingly having a very good time as they were constantly laughing. Zane noticed Ian wasn’t on the prowl though, just being friendly, so Troy must not have passed his inspection -- or else Ian had reverted to subtlety in order to take him by surprise.

“So, how come you and Ian aren’t talking?” Davey asked Zane while they waited for the lighting crew to adjust the lights for the hundredth time.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you not talking? You know, saying things to each other? With your mouths?”

“It’s a long story. We’re fine.”

“The only thing fine about either of you is your asses.”

“People!” Saul shouted before Zane could answer. “How about we try to
act
in this shot, huh? Wouldn’t that be nice? It’ll save us from having to be here all night!”

They were there all night. By the time they drove back to the hotel Zane’s displeasure had doubled -- even tripled -- from being tired and hungry. He sat in the backseat with Davey again.

“Zane,” Troy said and twisted around in his seat up front. “Ian says you want to be a director.”

“I do. It’s what I went to school for.”

“My girlfriend’s dad directs art-house films.”

Zane glanced at Ian when Troy said “girlfriend.” Now he understood why his brother hadn’t zeroed in.

“Which girlfriend?” Davey asked. “Last time I talked to you, you were dating that chick from that band. What the hell were they called again? Confusion?”

“Cold Fusion,” Troy said icily. “And I never
dated
her. We went out a couple times. No man, I’m talking about Aiko. The one that works at the roadhouse.”

“The one that smells like onion rings?” Davey asked.

“She works at a roadhouse! You used to smell like shit when you were washing dishes for a living too, cocksucker.”

Zane bit his tongue, trying not to laugh.

Davey heaved a sigh. “If she makes you happy. At least you’ll have all the fried food you could want.”

“Fuck off.”

They had a late dinner before going back to the hotel. Ian and Troy carried most of the conversation during the meal as Zane was exhausted and Davey seemed just as worn out. Ian dropped them off at the hotel and they went up to their rooms.

Davey paused outside his door after letting Troy in. “Hey,” he whispered.

Zane stopped, having turned to go to his room. “What?”

“Goodnight, stupid.” Davey reached up and grabbed the back of Zane’s head and pulled his face down. They shared a brief, firm kiss, and then Davey drew back. Zane was edgy and glanced toward the door. He didn’t want Troy to see them kissing, as if somehow a witness could alert his father from beyond the grave.

“Come by in the morning, if Elliot isn’t keeping you busy,” Davey said. “We’ll all hang out, since we don’t have to shoot until afternoon.”

“All right,” Zane said.

Zane had stayed in Davey’s room or Davey in his every night since they’d been there. Getting to sleep alone wasn’t easy, and Zane rather hated how much he missed having Davey snuggled up to him. Not to mention the sex. He also hated admitting his brother might have been right about yet another thing.