Читать книгу Code Of Conduct - Rich Merritt - Страница 14

“Wondered when the dream team would show up tonight.” “Makes two of us,” Don said as Lance handed him a beer. “Thanks. Just what I needed. Getting the ladies—and the lesbian—moving on a Saturday night wore me out. Karl had to call his fan club to tell them where he could be seen.” Don looked around. “Looks busy.”

“Thanks to all the rain, tonight’s the first Saturday the patio’s been open since New Year’s Eve. If I lost any more tips, I’d have to reenlist.”

“Admit it. You miss the thirty-mile marches with a seventy-pound pack and mortar plate.”

“My molecular biology textbook is as heavy as that plate. My parking lot’s gotta be thirty miles from my eight A.M. class.” Lance poured vodka in a tumbler, giving it a shake. “When your Marines bitch about how bad they got it, tell ’em the ‘First Civ Div’ ain’t no bed of roses.”

“Really? You trying to tell me that in the ‘First Civilian Division’ they don’t wake you gently every morning at ten with harps and flutes and violins?”

“Maybe—but I’m awake no later than seven thanks to garbage trucks and the neighbor’s Pomeranians.” Lance divided the mixture from the tumbler into two glasses.

“What about the wine and cheese and caviar they serve you civilians every evening,” Don said. “Don’t tell me that’s bullshit too.”

“Buddy. Try ramen noodles and nasty coffee so I can stay awake studying till three A.M.”

“Damn! Remind me again why you got out?”

“Don’t worry about investigators snooping in my life,” Lance said. “These are for Eddie and Robbi.” He gave Don the martini glasses. “Karl wants a drink, tell him to come get it himself.”

Don took the three drinks. “You’re not over him? Man, never seen you smitten like this.”

“Karl hasn’t left with anyone in months. He’s just waitin’ for a chance to tell me he’s sorry.”

“You sound like a country song.” Don laughed as he walked away from the bar.

His friends had gathered under a large heater. Lance was right. Don couldn’t remember the last time Karl had hooked up. There wasn’t anything wrong with Karl taking it easy sexually—it was just a definite change in his young friend’s behavior. When Don recalled the wad of twenty-dollar bills in Karl’s wallet, he wondered what might be going on in Karl’s life.

“Hey!” Karl said. “Where’s my drink?”

“Drink some of mine,” Robbi said. “You are about to become my lawful wedded husband.”

“You’re really going through with it?” Eddie shook his head. “Fake marriages can backfire.”

“I don’t want that girly drink.” Karl motioned toward the bar. “He knows what I like.”

“And according to him,” Don said, “you know what he likes.”

“Christ! Don’t tell me I have to fuck him again just to get a goddamned beer in this dump.” Karl left the group, Don presumed, to make peace with his ex-boyfriend.

“Gimme a break. Like Karl’s a top.” Eddie sipped his beverage. “Damn! Lance makes ’em strong. Or maybe I just ain’t had none in a while.”

“Did I hear Karl say ‘Christ’?” Don asked. “How long’s he been swearin’ with that word?”

“Who knows,” Robbi said. “He picks up bad habits like you or I pick up the dry-cleaning.” To Eddie, she explained, “Half our unit thinks we’re married already and the rest assume we’re a couple. The ones who’re smart enough to guess the truth are already on our side and won’t talk. We’ll make more money and get permission to live off base. The system’s such bullshit.”

“No argument from us.” Don scanned the patio and waved to friends and acquaintances.

“Why…waste yo’ time? You know you gonna be mine!” Karl screeched as he danced back to the group. “I’m gonna get choo, YES I AM…!”

“That was fast,” Don said. “And I see you got your beer.”

“My man just couldn’t stay away from me more than five minutes.” Robbi feigned passion. “Honey, where’s your sweatshirt?”

“He’s gotta show off that tan,” Eddie said. “A wife beater undershirt in January. Could you be any more of a gay cliché?”

“Homo say what?” asked Karl. “It’s hot beside the heater with all you pussies—not talking about you, old lady. Chill. Don’t let me forget. I left the sweatshirt with my boy at the bar. He misses me very much by the way.”

“What do Marines do in bed with each other?” asked Eddie. “I mean besides wear out a double-headed dildo?”

“Ha Ha Ha, that’s so fucking original, sailor boy!” Karl said mockingly. “Ooh, quick, I need to write that down. ‘all…Marines…are…nelly…bottoms…’ there. Can I use that? I’m sure no one’s ever heard it before.”

“Smart ass.”

“Speaking of Devildogs,” Karl said, “Lance says there’s a newby here tonight.”

“Where?” the other three asked in unison.

“Whoa, you think I was throwin’ meat to starving wolves,” Karl exclaimed. “He’s just another dime-a-dozen Marine ’mo.”

“You mean another conquest for you,” Eddie said.

“Naw, I’m through with officers,” Karl said.

“An officer?” Don asked. “Did Lance tell you his name?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, little buddy, I’m tired of playing twenty fucking questions. What’s his name?”

“Why don’t you go ask him yourself? He’s been cruisin’ you ever since we got here.”

“Hello, handsome. Don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Buy you a drink?”

Jay twisted his body to see who’d approached him, keeping his arms folded, though, as a way of retaining control. If the man was a worthy target, Jay would unfold his arms, lean against the bar and open up his body. He returned the man’s smile but replied, “No thanks.”

The long-haired man walked away, leaving Jay to his profiling. Of the dozens of men who’d cruised by, only a few could be servicemen. Fifteen years in Washington DC, with its heavy concentration of military personnel, had taught Jay how to weed out the real thing from the fakers in less than five seconds. The haircut wasn’t a good indicator—only amateurs believed they could spot a Marine or a Sailor that way. Hell, most sailors wore their hair longer than civilians did.

Jay was no amateur. He looked at a man’s gait and posture as the initial signs of legitimacy. Military men carried themselves with a unique combination of confidence and caution. They’d been taught to walk bravely through a dangerous world. Beyond that, though, were a man’s speech patterns and, most of all, his eyes. If Jay talked to a man and looked into his eyes, within ten seconds he knew with a ninety percent degree of accuracy if he was military or a wannabe.

Ten minutes later Jay spotted his first targets. Gay military men hung together in tightly knit groups. While that aided catching many of them at one time, infiltrating the clique was challenging. Through years of experience he knew how to gain their trust, always the key.

Prying himself between dozens of sweaty shirtless guys, Jay stepped onto the dance floor, where he removed his shirt and tucked it into his jeans. He smiled at a thin young man with a Navy tattoo on his chest. The man returned the smile, pointing Jay out to another Sailor. As much as Jay hated gay men’s music, he laughed at its appropriateness for his mission. I know what I want, and I want it NOW!

“Lance says that he’s hot but needs new clothes,” said Karl. “Gotta agree with my crazy ex.”

“Boys,” said Robbi, “go meet him before you strip him and play dress-up. I swear you act like high school girls. And stop calling Lance crazy just ’cause he tried to run over you.”

“I’m all for stripping him.” Eddie’s comment caught his three friends off guard. For a rare moment, the group was silent. They couldn’t remember the last time Eddie had expressed anything mildly sexual. “Go ahead, Don. I see that look in your eye.”

“Oh my God, Don,” shouted Robbi. “I’ve never see you blush before! This is so—cute!”

“What’re you waiting for?” asked Karl. “Take charge! If you don’t, someone else will.”

Don recovered from his momentary loss of composure. Patrick’s handsomeness wasn’t manufactured. Many men in Southern California worked hard to create an appealing—but ultimately clone-like—image for themselves, but not Patrick. He looked real! Don thought he’d lost the ability to be nervous about meeting another guy. He’d met hundreds of them, many on this patio, but seeing Patrick tonight proved him wrong. He felt like a jittery kid. As his conscious mind stalled, his instincts took over and he operated by reflex. Stepping forward, he saw that Patrick’s drink was empty. Grabbing a five, he sidestepped toward the bar, passing it to Lance. Lance, quick on the uptake, traded him a cold Samuel Adams.

Don paused then approached the other man. “Um, excuse me, is your name Patrick?” He raised his voice, emphasizing the name. As the man spun around, Don paid extra-close attention to his eyes. An unexpected greeting was as genuine as any moment of human interaction. In those seconds, before others had time to deploy their defenses, Don learned volumes of honest information about their soul.

“Yes—that’s—” the man stammered.

To Don’s delight, he saw the look. Men, even the most calculating and emotionally secretive, were universally bad at hiding signs of physical attraction. When men saw something they desired, an unmistakable and undeniable fire ignited in their eyes. Don was thrilled to see it in Patrick. “I’m Don, Chris’s friend. He said you were on your way out here.”

“Right! Hi—Don—I hoped that was you—I mean, from how he described you, I thought that might be you. Across the bar. With your friends.”

Don almost choked. Patrick was even more authentic than he looked. I hoped that was you. Don felt a giddiness he hadn’t experienced in a decade. His well-rehearsed pattern was to squelch unfamiliar emotions. Not tonight. He heard Eddie’s voice from earlier in the day telling him to get back out there. Rather than kill the tingling sensation and ignore the happiness, he decided to enjoy it all—ride it out and let it carry him someplace new. Maybe he’d go nowhere or maybe he’d get hurt—hell, he knew he’d get hurt somehow. Hurt was unavoidable over the long term—but hurt had to be better than the feelings of nothingness he’d suffered for years.

Patrick shifted nervously and Don wanted to put him at ease. “Hear you met my good friend, Lance. He’s another one of ‘The Few, The Proud.’” His voice trailed as their eyes met.

Visibly relaxing, Patrick smiled warmly and in a deep, soft voice said, “So you’re versatile?”

“What?” Don hadn’t expected a sexually forward comment from the reserved-looking man.

“MGD and Sam Adams—at the same time?”

“Oh—shit. Sorry, this one’s for you.” Don offered the premium beer to Patrick and took a swig of his own. He’d been so taken with the man’s warmth, dimples and eyes that he’d failed to use his prop. Then again, he hadn’t needed to. Patrick leaned back and rested his elbows on the bar, opening himself to Don, a sign Don didn’t miss. As he slid next to Patrick, Karl winked and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Patrick said. “You don’t look like a gunny.” Don remained silent as Patrick inched nearer. Shyly, he clarified his statement. “Meant that as a compliment.”

“Thanks. You mean I don’t look thirty-three going on sixty-four? The Corps’s a hard life. Many of my peers haven’t learned that chain-smoking and nightly binges don’t make it any easier. And don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but you do look exactly like a pilot.”

“Because I dress like an officer?” Patrick laughed. “So I’ve been told.”

“No. I don’t mean you dress like an officer—which you do, but that’s okay. You can tell I’m not exactly Calvin Klein. I meant it as a compliment. Seriously Patrick—you’re very—” Don feared he was crossing a line—that his swirling emotions had carried him too far on their introductory meeting. Fuck it. “You’re very handsome.”

To Don’s surprise, Patrick leaned closer in and their faces were only inches apart. He grew quiet and even more alluring. “I’m never this forward, but I’d kiss you right now—except something tells me you’re not into public displays of affection.”

With no hesitation, Don kissed Patrick. The younger man’s lips felt firm and pliable and Patrick eagerly received Don’s caress. Don wondered if time had come to a screeching halt for Patrick as well. How he wanted this sensation to last! He set his beer on the bar behind the slightly taller Marine and firmly embraced the younger man. Patrick’s tongue found its way into Don’s mouth and it tasted bittersweet but delicious from the rich beer. Behind Patrick, from across the patio, Don’s friends made loud comments and clapped. The sudden attention caused his emotions to retreat. He pulled his head back a few inches and stared deeply into Patrick’s green eyes. “I’m not into PDA at all—but there are exceptions to every rule.”

Patrick nodded. “I’d say that was quite exceptional.”

“I’m—” Don prided himself on his usually perfect bearing but right now he had none. He didn’t care, though, because somehow he knew that Patrick didn’t care. A mutual understanding passed between them that simply staring and smiling at each other was okay. They didn’t need to say or do anything to impress the other. Don assumed Patrick was twenty-four or twenty-five, the age of most lieutenants coming out of flight school, but he looked a couple of years younger. He’d probably been a later bloomer in puberty, as well as in coming out. Don tried to recall the few details Chris had shared with him. Whatever Chris had said, it was understated. “You were Chris’s student? How’d you figure each other out? He must be even brighter than I thought ’cause I never would’ve pegged you as gay. Well, not until I kissed you.”

“Chris said he guessed I was gay early on—I don’t know if he’s just saying that or what. But he laid the bait for me and I followed it—eagerly—out to the beach, Memorial Day weekend.”

“He still pulling that trick? We gotta get him some new material.” Don laughed. “Or not. It’s still working—I’m very glad to see. He didn’t tell me much about you, though.”

“Didn’t tell me much about you, either.” Patrick whispered. “If he had, I would’ve cut my leave short and made it out here a hell of a lot sooner.” Goose bumps formed on Don’s arm and neck. He whiffed Patrick’s aftershave, an off-the-shelf drugstore brand that was earthy and masculine. “Please forgive me if I’m being a little—aggressive—but something about you brings that out in me. I want to see you again, like, tomorrow.”

Don gulped, “Okay.” Part of him wanted to say, I want to see you again in less than an hour, under my sheets with all your clothes off. Instead, he said, “Tomorrow’s great.”

Eddie said, “Pardon us for interrupting—”

“Fuck that—I’m Karl, this is Robbi and our token squid here is Eddie. Patrick, I presume?”

“Meet the family,” said Don. “Guys, this is Patrick.”

“Chris’s friend from Pensacola?” Eddie asked. “His friends are our friends.”

“Welcome to San Diego, Patrick,” Robbi said as she shook Patrick’s hand. “I’m Robbi.”

“‘Robbie?’” Patrick asked.

“‘It’s spelled R-O-B-B-I,” said Karl. “But you can call her Roberta.”

“Call me Roberta one more time, Karl, and I’ll fucking slice your nuts off with a dull razor.”

“Ouch!” said Patrick. “Sweet to sassy in under two seconds! I like you!”

Just as quickly as she’d turned on Karl, Robbi regained her earlier cuteness. “I wish I could’ve charged admission to that little show you put on. You’re the hottest ticket at WC’s!”

It was Patrick’s turn to blush. “Um—great to meet all of you—”

“It’s a little overwhelming, I know,” said Eddie in a reassuring voice. “New city, new—”

“You a top? Or a bottom?” Karl asked. “’cause if you’re hookin’ up with Don, then—”

“Karl!” Robbi punched Karl hard. “Oh my God! You are absolutely impossible!”

“Do I need to tell you to ignore him?” Don asked Patrick. Staring at Karl, Don’s eyes gave a clear order. Not this time! Karl’s submissive expression told him he got the message. Don usually tolerated Karl’s bluntness but he wouldn’t allow anything to screw up his chances with Patrick. As he watched and listened to Patrick converse with his friends, he fell even deeper for the guy. Looking back over his life, there were many twists and turns Don hadn’t seen at the time. This was different. He knew that right now, in the moment, he’d never be the same again. And he was glad.