The Gift (11 page)

"Okay, I get it," August said finally, his face expressionless, his voice in complete deadpan. "You hate my slacks."

Relief flooded Doren's chest. He laughed and flumped on to his side, grinning at August. "I do. I despise them, even. But I must say they look far better now than they did fifteen minutes ago." He couldn't wipe the smile off his face. "I am, however, thrilled at my own ingenuity to ensure you will not be wearing them tonight."

He sat up and rubbed his face with both hands. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to shower. Almost as badly as you do." He caught August with both arms when August tried to sit up. "But first, tell me what you're wearing tonight."

August made a grab for the pillow but Doren easily kept him back from it—an act that resulted in a heavy sigh and a slump against Doren's chest. "If you must know, Glenda agreed to bring me something."

Doren frowned. "Glenda? Like, Anton's Glenda, you mean?"

"Yes. We met down at the boutique when I went looking this morning and she offered to send over something from last season. She said her ex-husband was, and I quote, 'A tiny thing like you.'"

"Do you think you can trust her?" He asked not out of disbelief, but only because he heard the wave of nervous tension start to build inside August. "Anton doesn't seem all that warm and fuzzy with you, Aug."

"No," August agreed. "But Glenda's not Anton, right?"

He frowned, not convinced. "I hope not, Auggie. I sure hope not."

He was fighting with guilt, but not in the way he would have assumed he would be. Rather than fighting guilt off, August was begging himself to feel it. He'd walked back to his own room, wet and uncomfortable, used like a tissue to catch someone else's body fluids, his own smearing with each step … and felt elated beyond comprehension. His lips were bruised and swollen and he couldn't stop his tongue from dipping out to taste them again and again.

The door between the rooms was still open, August could hear Doren in the shower, voice sweet and light as he sang along to the radio. He grinned when he heard Doren drop the soap and curse it, chasing it in the oversized tub, and had to force himself not to climb on to his own bed and just lie there, listening and grinning like a dork.

Sighing, August dragged himself into his bathroom and started the shower. He had just peeled off his soiled pants when he heard the knock at the door. Muttering, August grabbed the hotel robe and dashed for the open entry between their rooms, pulling it closed and locking it quickly. The last thing he needed was Doren walking in with nothing but a towel on.

"See?" Glenda flashed a perfect smile when August opened the door and handed him a coat bag. "I told you would I come through for you, gorgeous."

August smiled gratefully, tucking the robe that much tighter around him. "You have no idea how much this is going to help. Thank you again. Do you want to come in for a minute?"

"Well, us low-men-on-the-totem got to stick together, right?" Glenda followed him into the tiny room, eyeing the place with disdain. "Gee, they spared no expense, I see."

"It works all right for me. It's really not much smaller than my apartment." August grinned and Glenda laughed.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Glenda turned with a pitiful look. "I'm kind of the bearer of bad news."

"Oh?"

She nodded, twisting her face into a grimace. "They've got the roads closed and banned all travel except for emergency use. The rain has knocked out a major portion of the bridge and the streets are a disaster. Accidents and crap everywhere. Like …" she gestured wildly with her hand, "
every
where. I hate to say it, but I think you guys are staying for a while."

August snorted. "Great. I'm sure Anton is thrilled."

Glenda shrugged. "Nah, I don't really think he cares either way. He comes across like a tiger but he's just a big pussycat. But enough about him; check out the outfit. Tell me what you think. By the way," Glenda stepped forward to watch him undo the garment bag. "I think you're the only gay man I know who doesn't like to shop."

"I never said I didn't like to shop," August said. "I don't like to spend. Big difference." His grin over his clever comeback slid to a stare of shock.

"Isn't it awesome?" Glenda asked, her excited tone falling to disappointment when she saw August's expression. "Oh, you don't like it?"

He pulled the hangers out: black leather pants that looked slim enough that he could split the seams just by looking at them, a hot pink satin vest, and leather jacket with—oh, God, he thought, and closed his eyes—slits on both front and back that made it look like the jacket had been ravaged by a very large, very vicious wildcat. It was probably worth a mint. Many people would probably kill to wear it. He just wasn't one of them. At all.

"No, it's really nice. I mean, I like it. I'm just … I guess I'm just wondering … like … it's not really appropriate for black tie, is it?"

"Of course it is; you're going with a rock star, aren't you? You can be damn sure that I'll be in black leather!"

August's laugh sounded far more nervous than he intended it to. "We're not actually going together. I'm just there as his assistant."

Glenda began to remove the items from their hangers, holding them up to August's frame. "Oh? So he has a date, then?"

"Well, no. I don't think so anyway. He didn't mention one."

Glenda lifted her eyebrow. "Well, hopefully this outfit will work for you then."

"It's not like that," August said, stepping away from the offensive garments. "We're not … I'm not … well, we're just not. I'm his assistant."

"Funny." Glenda gave him a sideways stare. "I thought I felt a couple of vibes between the two of you."

"No."

"If you insist." She waved August off before he could reply. "Oh! I brought boots too. They match. Very hot. Anyway, I have to run. Lots to do. See you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks. See you tonight," August said, still staring at the outfit, horrified. Now what? He had two hours to come up with something decent. He glanced at the pants lying in a pile on the floor. There was no way he'd be able to get them laundered and dried in time. He'd have to pull the "emergency" credit card his dad had given him. A thought that incensed him as much as the idea of letting Doren pay for clothes. Still, an emergency was an emergency.

"Well, at least one of us can get a job done right," Glenda said into the cell phone, preening for praise from her boss.

The rush she got from the pleasure in his voice when Anton purred, "Good girl! So he took the outfit?" was damn near sexual.

"Oh, yeah. He took it. But you got about six minutes to get the boutique in the hotel closed and stop him from leaving. Or, here's a better idea. See if he's got a credit card registered to his name and get it frozen. I have the feeling he's going to move hell and high water to find something else to wear, but there's no way he'll ask Doren for the money to do it."

"Done. Ursula is pulling up the records now. Glenda, you're an angel."

She smirked into the phone. "Not even close."

"And you know that's why I love you. Now get ready. The car will pick you up in an hour."

She carried her smile with her out the lobby door and into the rainy street.

"What do you mean it's declined? It can't be." August stared in unmasked confusion at the sales clerk who looked embarrassed beyond words.

"I'm sorry, sir. I've got a phone right here—would you like to call the credit card company?"

He shook his head. If the card had been declined, then his father’s disapproval went way deeper than August had thought. Yes, his father had reasoned with him not to go into the program in the first place. And yes, his father had said he would never make any money in the music industry. So when he'd told his dad he was dropping out, that he'd found a job and even if he hadn't there was no point in going back because he'd bombed the last semester so badly he had no chance of getting his grades to par, his mind had pictured the condemnation flashing in dear old Dad's eyes as if the man had been standing in front of him. He just had no idea it would be to such a degree. It was obviously his father's attempt at teaching him the lesson of: if this is what you want, then you deal with it on your own.

He'd been to four different stores when he realized the boutique had closed early, and God only knew why that was on a freaking weekend of all times, and even running his fool head off it had taken him over three hours to find something decent that was in his price range. Now with no hopes of procuring said find, only a couple of hours before they had to leave, a shower and shave on the docket, and a guest list that was a mile long to memorize, August was completely, one-hundred-percent screwed. He'd even considered scooping the discarded tux from Doren's room, but there wasn't a chance in hell it would even come close to fitting his frame. Not even tucking and rolling everything he could.

"Don't look at it," he kept telling himself while he got ready. "It won't look awful. I'll fit right in." But he felt like a complete and utter fool standing in front of the mirror, trussed up like a kid in a Halloween costume. If nothing else, August grimaced at his reflection, he could pass as Doren's escort.

He was running late—had, in fact, already answered one phone call from the limo driver and ignored the second—when he finally met up with the group in the lobby. The bassist, whom August struggled to recall the name of, whistled—a long, high note of approval. "Just look at you. I wouldn't have thought you had it in you."

Doren turned, smiling, but his face fell instantly. "That's what Glenda brought you to wear?"

August bit back the "fuck you" that flew to his lips. Instead, he offered Doren a smile back, fighting away the increase of already rampant self-consciousness. "You don't like it?"

"It's all right." Doren's eyes raked him up and down, a frown etched onto Doren's face. "It's just … I don't know. You look like … everybody else, I guess. I expected something different. It's not … you."

Right, August thought. It was okay for Doren to look like a street kid in his faded jeans and blood-spattered shirt. "At least I haven't slathered on eyeliner," August wanted to shout. "At least my hair is brushed." Rather, he offered another patient smile and tried to shift his stance as, suddenly, it felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "Can't you even try to say something nice?"

Doren shook his head, resolve settling on his face. "No. I don't like it. I'm sorry."

August didn't know why he was taking it so personally. He knew Doren was right. But for God's sake, a little faking wouldn't kill him, would it? "Well, if you hate the outfit so much, you can always go by yourself."

Anger spiked in Doren's eyes. "I think you might be forgetting something here, Auggie. I offered to get you something decent to wear; you're the one who refused. So if I'm a little put off with the clown outfit then I think I have a right. And you work for me. If I say you're going to be there, then you're going to fucking be there."

The whole trip caught up with August at once: the lack of proper sleep, the incident on the bus, the attitude … that annoying voice in the back of his head that kept repeating:
and this is the guy you decided to touch?

"Actually, Doren, you're the one who's missed something here." He bowed his head to the band, staring in unabashed amusement at their exchange. "I'm not your bitch." He spun on the slippery sole of the ridiculous boots, heading straight for the elevator.

"August, don't you fucking dare! Get back here and stop acting like one then."

Fate, you blessed beast, August thought as the elevator doors slid open and a man walked out into the lobby. He stepped into the metal box, thrilled at Doren's hesitation to follow, and punched the button to close the door.

"I don't need this," he mumbled at the floor, afraid to lift his face lest the tears he fought dare to wander. "I don't need you, I don't need this job, and I certainly don't need this fucking jacket." He was still trying to squirm out of it when the elevator opened on his floor. He was still spitting whispered profanities as he shoved open the door to his room and flung the jacket across it. As his fingers fumbled for the buttons, slipping on the satin, eyesight disturbed with obstructive waterworks, he had to force himself not to just start tearing the cloth off his back. As it was, the button on his left wrist succumbed to the rough treatment, skipping away to God only knew where, and August tossed the shirt on the bed in a crumpled pile.

Was this normal? That one minute Doren was acting like August was the greatest thing since sliced bread and the next Doren was acting like a four-year old who didn't like the flavor of Popsicle he'd been offered? He stared out the window of the hotel and watched the limo pulling away from the curb. Without thought, he lifted his middle finger and shoved his fist against the glass hard enough to rap his knuckles soundly.

"Right, Aug," he sniff-laughed. "Doren's the one acting like a child."

The phone started to ring and August jumped at the sound. He wasn't going to answer it, didn't want to listen to Doren's bullshit, but it was insistent and annoying as all hell. Three rings, four rings, five rings, then silence … and seconds later it started all over again. Rage got the better of him. Fine. If Doren wanted to keep fighting, he was game. He picked up the receiver and snarled, "What?"

"August, love? It's Diana. From the office? Is that you?"

He gripped the phone and squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes, sorry. God, Diana, I apologize. I thought you were someone else."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes. No." He shook his head pointlessly. "It's … complicated."

"August? Hon?" Diana's voice was like a long drink of water after a run in mid-summer. "Take a breath. Just relax. I know things are tense. I know these guys can be a handful. But everything's going to be fine, okay?" When he didn't reply, Diana huffed a soft sound of concern. "I know you have to get ready, so I'm sorry to be calling you so late. I just managed to trace a package I sent out to you and they tell me it's arriving as we speak. Have you seen any sign of it yet?"