Part 40 (1/2)

Come on. He leads me into the sauna, but doesn't turn it on. Now our sweat scents mingle and the combination is heady. There is no need for words as our bodies link.

He is strong. The first strong man I've ever been with, and this time I don't give. It is new.

Frightening. Exhilarating.

But somehow I trust it to be all right. And it is more than that. A piece of my puzzle falls into place, a piece I didn't know was missing. Fifteen minutes to Seth, reinvented.

I'm Still Trying To sort it all out in my head when Carl gets home. Early for once, and with no company.

”Oh. Didn't expect you so soon.

I'll start dinner right now.”

Don't bother. He goes into the living room, pours himself a drink. Does not pour one for me. So tell me. What did you do today? The look on his face explains way too much.

Something nasty bubbles up in my belly. But I'm not ready to confess-not yet.

”I read. Swam. Worked out.”

Sounds like a pretty easy day.

You have it easy here, don't you, Seth? He doesn't wait for my reply. So why in the h.e.l.l did you want to go and blow it?

Okay, he knows. But how?

And what does that mean to me? And how much, exactly, does he know?

”What are you talking about?”

He advances, sipping his drink like he doesn't have a care.

You know exactly what I'm talking about. Did I give you permission to pick up some guy in the workout room? Slip into the sauna for, shall we say, an afternoon quickie?

Did you think I wouldn't keep tabs on you? All you young f.a.gs are alike. Simon's philandering taught me a lesson-never trust a boy toy. And here in Vegas, there is no shortage of pretty f.a.ggots, willing to do just about anything to earn an extra dime.

That includes acting as bait.

I didn't expect Jared to follow through and actually do you, but whatever. I start to protest.

Carl holds up a hand. Shut your mouth. You have twenty-four hours to pack up and get the h.e.l.l out of here. Be gone when I get home tomorrow.

He Will Not Allow Explanations or arguments.

He's had his say and I am to leave. He doesn't give a d.a.m.n where or how. Won't even front a few bucks to send me on my way.

I wander into my room, turn on my computer-the computer.

It belongs to Carl. I've got less than a day and zero capital to start completely over.

I have exactly one resource- a better, buffer body than when I arrived. I'll have to barter it more carefully. It's the only one I have, after all. I go to Craigslist, Las Vegas Personals.

Click on Men 4 Men, scan the ads.

Here's a Help Wanted ad for Have Ur Cake Escorts. Just in case, I jot down the number. But what I'm really looking for is another Carl.

There are a few possibilities.

Can't be too picky. I send out several e-mail intros, wait less than patiently for a response.

A Poem by Whitney Lang Less Than Patiently The Lady waits. Pretty China White demands I listen, and hold her in my arms.

She is my only friend, my one ally against the low, throbbing ache inside my brain, against the loneliness my heart was not prepared to hold.

Will it break beneath the obscene weight of him not loving me? How is it possible I could have been so very wrong again?

Whitney

No Love

In this world for me. No hope.

No future. Nothing but plodding through each day, not quite surviving. I am not alive except when I'm fresh off a plunge, that first rush after a hot shot.

Then, for scant minutes, life rages through my veins, a river.

Bryn comes later and later each day, if he comes at all. Sometimes I wait, barely hanging on, wondering if he's back in Santa Cruz, combing the mall for a new Whitney. Then I get mad. Not only because my body is twisted with spasms of need, but also because I should be there. Not him. I belong there- used to belong there. Don't belong there or anywhere like this. Waiting for maintenance. And so, I've come up with a plan. Bryn isn't the only supplier in Vegas. Sometimes they hang out at strip clubs. And, I suspect, I can find one who might be up for a trade.

I watch from a distance as a car pulls up against the sidewalk, a block down the street from Skin Tight.

Don't know if the deal was set up before or if this is a regular haunt for the guy who goes to the window, collects some cash, and tosses something at the pa.s.senger. The deal is down in less than thirty seconds. I can't be sure it was H without a little scamming of my own. The guy, who is pretty much a stereotypical Latino deal-meister, turns back toward Skin Tight. I sidle up, flash some thigh. ”Hey, honey.

You looking for a little fun?” Already broke one of Bryn's rules. But this guy def isn't the heat. He is high himself, but not on junk. His pupils shout ”crystal.”

My heart sinks. I start to back away.

More reasons than one for rules, I guess.

The guy grabs my wrist, pulls me into him. Hey, now. Where you going?

You ain't a wh.o.r.e and a tease, are you? 'Cause that might make me mad.

I've gotten a whole lot better at reading guys since my little choking incident.

This is not a guy I want to make mad.

”No, baby. Just a wh.o.r.e, and a good one.” Might as well play the game for money if the Lady isn't on the line.