From Morocco to Paris (28 page)

“I’m starting to,” Zane said softly. “But one can lead to the other.”

“Yeah, still,” Ian leaned over and ground his cigarette out on the edge of the step beneath his feet, “it hasn’t yet.” He sighed. “What do I have to do? I don’t know anymore.”

Zane gazed out at the small square of a backyard, lit only by the faint glow of the moon. The world seemed so still and quiet, for once. He thought of what Davey had said to him before they left Paris.

“You just need to find the right idiot.”

Ian frowned. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Zane chuckled. “Why not?” He got to his feet. “Seems it takes a special kind of idiot to love a Reed boy.” He extended a hand to Ian. “Not many of them in the world, so you’re bound to look for a while.”

Ian looked at his hand, then after a moment, took it and let Zane haul him to his feet.

“Come on,” Zane said. “Let’s go cheat at Hold’em.”

When they walked back into the kitchen, the light bright after being outside in the darkness, Davey turned to look at them. His eyes looked bluer against the warm glow of the yellow walls.

“So, who’s winning?” Zane smiled.

“You are.” Davey smiled back, holding up the hand he’d been playing for him.

Chapter 24

The noise in the bar -- a mixture of country music from the jukebox, shouting voices, and clinking glasses -- had reached a near-deafening level. “More than tipsy but not quite drunk” described Zane’s level of inebriation. Everything looked pretty and every idea seemed a good one.

The Diamondback Saloon -- more commonly called “The Diamond” by locals -- saw plenty of action on most nights, but on Fridays, the patrons packed in to take advantage of the dance floor and karaoke. Almost everyone in the bar knew Zane and said hello, or came over to chat. Zane, Davey, Ian, and Essie had a table near the karaoke stage. Their mother had left early before things got rowdy, as she usually did.

“All right,” Zane said. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, hanging precariously as he wobbled on his feet. “Here we are, Davey.” Zane sat a shot glass down in front of him.

Davey lowered his head and sniffed, then pulled a face.

“Bourbon whiskey,” Zane said. “The pride of Kentucky!”

Ian grinned, sprawled in the chair next to Davey, his arm on the back of Davey’s chair. Zane didn’t mind. When Ian got drunk, he loved everyone.

“Bourbon whiskey,” Davey repeated, picking the glass up; he held it up to the light. Essie watched him with sparkling eyes.

“The national drink of our fair state,” Zane said and tried to find his cigarette, reaching for the wrong side of his mouth. “You can’t come to Kentucky and not drink bourbon whiskey. Am I right, or am I right?” He pounded his fist on the table. Essie and Ian banged on the table in agreement.

“The
national
drink of your
state
,” Davey said.

Zane sat down next to him and searched the table for his lighter. “Now see, here’s the thing.” He leaned over. “If you can drink that down straight without choking, you’re a real man.”

“Oh, Christ,” Davey said and put the glass down. “And the more shots you do, the more of a man you become, right? Like I’ll actually feel my testicles getting bigger?”

Zane grinned and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. “I know you can do it.” Because the block between his brain and mouth had been dissolved by alcohol, he leaned over and whispered in Davey’s ear, “Drink it down without choking, and I’ll suck your cock in the backseat tonight.”

Davey laughed uproariously and Ian arched an inquisitive eyebrow. Essie just grinned and watched.

“All right.” Davey picked up the glass again. “If I get sick, I’m doing it on your shoes.”

“You got it.”

Davey took the shot. Afterward he winced and gagged, just a little, but managed not to cough. “That’s an…interesting flavor.” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

They all clapped and whistled while Davey continued to wince and licked his lips. Zane put his foot up on the table.

“There you go, give ‘em a good splatter.”

Davey pushed his foot off the table with a smirk.

“You California boys,” Ian said. “Your tongue’s ruined by all that fucking tofu and organic shit. Your taste buds forgot how to work.”

“You don’t know what my tongue’s been ruined by,” Davey said. “Shut up.”

A couple more rounds of shots put Zane over the line to completely drunk, as they did Davey. Davey kept trying to light a cigarette -- impressed that there wasn’t a smoking ban in Kentucky -- and Zane eventually had to help him, in an example of the blind leading the blind. Ian finally stepped in with his Zippo to assist.

“That’s pretty,” Davey said, taking the lighter from Ian after he lit them up. He held the silver monochrome Zippo up to the light above their table, staring in wonder.

“And you’re drunk.” Ian took a pull off his own cigarette. “It’s a lighter.”

Davey brought the Zippo close to his face and peered at the surface. “What’s that say? There’s words engraved on it.”

Zane and Ian said in perfect unison, “
And I take with joy whatever now besets me, pain or fear. And with a strong will I sever all the ties which bind me here
.”

Davey looked from one to the other.

Ian chuckled and snagged the lighter back. “It’s from a hymn we learned in church when we were kids. Zane got this for me, just before I left for California.” He nudged Davey in the ribs. “You should’ve seen the big pussy crying when I got on the plane.”

“Oh yes.” Zane plunked his glass down on the table. “Let’s not forget you calling me up that night crying over how homesick you were.”

“You guys oughta get married,” Davey slurred. “That’s legal in this state, right?”

The night frolicked on in a haze, the cacophony of voices and music and the sweet flow of alcohol wrapping Zane in a blissful buzz. His gaze kept straying to Davey, wearing a tight pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt, his hair loose on his shoulders. Zane had gone casual with jeans and a t-shirt as well, but somehow Davey made the simple look striking. Zane would have been content to sit there all night, just staring at him.

Then the karaoke started.

“I gotta sing!” Zane said and pushed himself to his feet. “Ian, we gotta sing!”

“We do!” Ian lurched to his feet as well.

“What?” Davey asked.

“Oh Christ,” Essie said and rubbed her forehead.

Zane and Ian commandeered the stage, an easy feat since everyone knew them. Zane grinned and waved to the crowd, which cheered and waved back. Ian handed him a microphone.

“All right, folks,” Zane said into the microphone, which squealed feedback at him in return. “How about some requests?”

Various songs titles were thrown at them, from classics to contemporary to downright silly.

In the end, they decided to sing “Burning Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash. Davey laughed the entire time, alternately clapping and hiding his eyes. Zane wasn’t the best of singers, but he didn’t care. He and Ian jumped around the stage and sang their hearts out. The crowd ate it up. Toward the end, Zane beckoned Davey to come up and join them. He shook his head wildly and held his hands up.

Zane took a break from singing to shout at the crowd. “How many of you want to hear my good friend Davey sing a few lines for us?”

Everyone cheered enthusiastically. After some more encouraging, Davey finally made his way up to the stage.

“Come on!” Zane urged him, reaching down to give him a hand up. “Davey Alexander, everybody!”

Everyone shouted, just to shout.

Despite his initial reluctance, Davey took quickly to the microphone and showed off his voice, as he had in the desert. He did the breathiest, most slinky performance of “Burning Ring of Fire”
Zane had ever witnessed. Judging by the shrieks and squeals, most of the women in the bar had orgasms, along with a few of the men.

When Davey finished, the applause and screaming nearly brought down the house. Davey grinned and bowed repeatedly. Zane and Ian took a bow as well.

As they stepped off the stage, a woman in a short denim skirt and a low-cut top pushed a piece of paper into Davey’s hand with a salacious smirk.

“Thanks.” Davey looked at the number written on the paper. “I’ll put you in my little black book.”

After their performance, Essie went out to get some air, and the three men were quickly surrounded by people wanting to buy them drinks. Most of their admirers were female, and they practically punched each other to get the open chairs. Normally, Zane would have picked out a few of the cuter ones and taken turns accepting their hospitality, but he just wanted to sit and talk with Davey. Things had changed.

The girls hit on Ian as well, since most people in town didn’t know about his sexuality -- though of course they did speculate -- and Zane heard him proclaim he would be joining the priesthood in the morning so he could neither drink nor fornicate. A curvy blonde girl leaned over between Zane and Davey and whispered something in Davey’s ear. She wore a tantalizing floral perfume and one of her breasts, practically falling out of her top, rested on Zane’s shoulder. Zane peeked over. Red lace bra.

Davey listened closely to whatever she said. “That sounds great,” he said loudly over the chatter at the table. “I’m involved with someone though, I’m sorry.”

The girl frowned, then leaned over again and whispered something else. Zane smiled to himself.

“No.” Davey shook his head. “They’ll find out, trust me.”

She walked away, clearly disappointed. Zane smiled knowingly at him.

Essie came back a few minutes later, her coat and shirt dotted with water spots. “There’s somebody outside who wants to talk to you,” she said to Zane.

“Me?” Zane looked up at her. “Who?”

“I don’t know who he is. Wear your coat out though, it’s raining.”

Zane could only think of one reason a man would want to “talk” to him outside a bar in his hometown. Zane caught Ian’s eye and made a certain gesture. Ian nodded and got to his feet, as did Zane.

“Where are you going?” Davey asked.

“We’ll be back.” Zane patted his arm. “Sit tight.”

Zane and Ian pushed their way through the crowd to the front door. Ian hung back just inside the entryway while Zane went out.

Outside, neon lights gleamed on the shiny pavement, the air made icy by a drizzling rain. Zane kept under the awning outside the door, huddled down in his jacket. Not many people lingered outside, and he found the person who was looking for him quickly. He walked over to Zane, wrapped in a long tan coat, and Zane gaped in shock.

“Cristiano! What the hell are you doing here?”

In the garish light from the bar windows, Cristiano was pale, and had dark shadows under his eyes, making him look sickly. Despite fearing he might break, Zane quickly embraced him.

“I found out where your mother lives,” Cristiano said. His teeth chattered next to Zane’s ear. “I stopped by your house. She said you were here. I wanted to talk to you.”

“You came all the way to Kentucky to talk to me?” Zane laughed wonderingly as he drew back. “I have a phone, you could have saved yourself some money!”

“I needed to talk to you face to face. I was coming to the U.S. anyway. I’m going to rehab in Los Angeles, so I’ll be close to Elliot. He’ll be back home by the time I get out.”

“Was that your choice? Or his?”

“Both.” Cristiano looked down at the pavement. “I’m sorry, Zane. For what I did. For how it affected you, for how it affected everybody.”

“I know,” Zane said softly. “I know you are. I’m not angry at you.”

“It’s part of my treatment. I have to talk to my friends and family and ask their forgiveness.”

“You don’t have to ask mine. I never blamed you.”

“It helps, though.” Cristiano looked up, his eyes dark and intense. “I’ve…I’ve seen Hell, and it’s been a cold walk back. Every little thing helps.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way to Kentucky to do this, Cristiano.”

“But I did.” He gazed steadily into Zane’s eyes. “I did. And it couldn’t wait until after I got out.”

A moment of silence fell, just the sound of cars passing on the wet street.

“Since you’re here,” Zane said, “will you tell me something?”

Cristiano nodded, still staring at him.

“How long have you been an addict?”

Cristiano drew a deep sigh, and his breath obscured his face as he blew the air out. “Since I was young. Since fifteen. I didn’t have a very good home life, when I was young. I didn’t grow up in a very ideal situation.”

“I can sympathize. But I never turned to drugs. What made you do it?”

“They were there, in the world I lived in. And it was easier than dealing with the pain -- of my family, of the people who treated me poorly because I obviously wasn’t a real man. I thought if I grew up to be successful it would show them all, and I wouldn’t need the drugs. But I grew up, I became successful,” he spread his gloved hands, “and I just had more money for the drugs. Better drugs.”

“Why did you call him?” Zane asked softly. “If you wanted to die? Why did you call Elliot?”

“I got scared.”

Zane glanced toward the door. “What does he say now?”

“What he has always said. He wants me to get better. He wants me to be happy.”

“I told him. About us. About that night.”

“I know. And I’m glad. He deserved to know.”

The door opened a little and Ian peeked out. Zane motioned to him and he slid outside. When he saw Cristiano, his mouth fell open.

“Cristiano! How did you get here?”

“He walked,” Zane said with a smirk. “How do you think he got here?”

“I mean what is he
doing
here?” Ian looked at Cristiano. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to talk to Zane.” Cristiano smiled faintly. “It was important.”

“It must be, to come all the way to Kentucky!” Ian looked him over. “You look like hell.”

“Nice one, Ian,” Zane said.

Cristiano laughed dryly. “Coincidentally, I don’t feel much better.”

“It’ll take time,” Zane said. “But you’ll get there.”

“He’s right.” Ian stepped forward and hugged him. “How have you been?” He held him for a moment, then drew back, looking at him with concern.