Читать книгу Someone Like You - Timothy James Beck - Страница 10

When Derek’s parents had sat him down the summer before his senior year of high school and asked what he planned to do after graduation, he certainly hadn’t blithely responded, “I want to be a kept boy!” Nor had that been his ambition while he was growing up. He hadn’t been sure what he wanted to do, but he knew he had a college fund. He assured his parents that lots of people started college without a set plan, found out what they were good at, then made their decision.

In due course, he went north to Terre Haute and Indiana State University. It was only a hundred miles from home, but that was far enough to be an inviting new world for him. He loved his parents, but they could be a little smothering. They’d married in their late twenties and tried unsuccessfully for fifteen years to have a child. His mother initially thought he was a symptom of early menopause.

He didn’t mind having parents who were the age of some of his classmates’ grandparents. His father’s tool and dye business provided a comfortable living. If he didn’t get everything he wanted, like a car, at least his parents hadn’t lived beyond their means or inflicted him with the messy divorces and child custody fights he saw all around him.

But George and Terri Anderson were also nobody’s fools. When they saw his lackluster grades at the end of his first college semester, Derek was warned to show improvement or continue his education while living at home. They knew what he was capable of, because he’d made good grades in high school. They were sure, and correctly so, that the only subject Derek had focused on was Party 101.

What they didn’t know was how enthusiastically he’d embraced the chance to be openly gay in a place where he found like-minded and able-bodied men. He wouldn’t have called himself a slut; he didn’t have to, since his friends said it for him.

Derek heeded his parents’ warning and finished his freshman year with a much-improved grade point average. Thus he was allowed to return to Cromwell Hall—his parents were still reluctant to approve off-campus housing—as a sophomore. A year wiser, he kept his grades up for two more semesters, but he’d despaired of ever figuring out what he wanted to be when he grew up. He’d fulfilled all his general requirements, and it was time to narrow his field of study.

He’d been pondering that on his last day as a part-time employee at Drink for Your Health Juice and Smoothie Bar. Business was slow, since finals were over and students were beginning their mass exodus to hometowns, beaches, or summer jobs. Most of his friends were already gone. Derek had only a few things left to pack and a few precious days of freedom before his father came to get him for a boring summer of helping with inventory and shipments at Anderson Tool and Dye.

After his last customers left, he was desultorily wiping down their table, trying to ignore that year’s song-that-must-be-played-until-everyone-hates-it. He glanced through the plate glass window and his heart skipped a beat when he spied one of Indiana’s scenic wonders: a man bending to lock his bicycle. He was wearing Lycra cycling shorts, and while they showcased his ass to good advantage—and for that matter, his package, when he turned around—they also appealed to Derek’s weakness for great legs.

The cyclist’s legs were long, muscular, tanned, and covered with hair sun-bleached to nearly white. Derek was practically drooling about his powerful thighs when the man opened the door to the shop and stopped short on the threshold.

“I’ll give you twenty dollars if you’ll change the radio station,” he said, brushing his sweat-soaked hair back with one hand.

“I’ll do whatever you want for nothing,” Derek said brazenly, then darted behind the counter and changed the station. He met the cyclist’s intense blue eyes and said, “What else?”

“Strawberry lemon smoothie. Large.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Derek asked.

One corner of the man’s mouth twitched, and he said, “Is there something else you’d recommend?”

As if channeling some turn-of-the-century floozy from an ice cream parlor, Derek said, “Most of my customers appreciate my finesse with a banana.” He grabbed one from the counter and, keeping his eyes locked on the cyclist’s, began to unpeel it.

“I usually like something more tart,” the man said, playing along.

Derek shrugged and said, “Then I may as well eat this.”

He proceeded to slide the banana between his lips, provoking a reluctant laugh from his customer, who asked, “When do you get off?”

Derek slowly drew the uneaten banana from his mouth and said, “That depends on you. The shop closes at six.”

“I’ll be back at six,” the cyclist said, turning to leave.

“Aren’t you going to satisfy your craving for something tart?” Derek asked.

“That depends on you,” the man said, mimicking Derek, and kept walking.

Derek sighed with longing as he watched the cyclist cross the street and unlock his bike. Derek didn’t really believe he’d be back, but at least he’d be a good fantasy on boring summer nights in Evansville.

Derek’s boss, Tyrone, a hippie throwback who’d dropped out of Indiana State in the seventies, came in before six to write out his final paycheck and lock up. Just as Derek stepped out of Drink for Your Health, his Mystery Date wheeled up to the curb in a silver Jaguar convertible. Derek didn’t even hesitate before stepping into the car. It was only after they pulled away that it occurred to him that he knew nothing about his companion, not even his name, beyond how appealing he looked in biker shorts.

Derek scrutinized him while he drove. His hair, fine and straight, looked blonder now that it was dry. In spite of his deep tan, there were no faint lines around his eyes, which made Derek guess he wasn’t that much older, definitely under thirty. He was clean-shaven and wore no jewelry except a watch with a silver band. His black jeans, black leather lace-up boots, and crisp white linen shirt made Derek feel frumpy in his khaki shorts, faded T-shirt, and sneakers. He was grateful that Tyrone hadn’t expected him to wear something like the bright orange uniform shirt he’d worn in his previous job as a fry cook.

Without turning his head, the man said, “Now can you tell me my sun sign, my favorite color, and what brand of toothpaste I prefer?”

“You could tell me your name,” Derek suggested.

“Is it customary for an abductor to provide details like that?”

“I’m Derek Anderson,” Derek volunteered.

“Hunter,” the man said, which drew only silence as Derek contemplated whether that was his first or last name.

Derek also wondered why they were driving toward Indianapolis. “I hope my parents can find a good photo for my milk carton shot.”

Hunter laughed but offered no more information, so Derek faced forward and considered the consequences of his heedless flirting. When they took the exit for Mall of the Universe, his worry evaporated. Maybe Hunter just wanted to take him to the retail mecca of the Midwest and buy him some decent clothes.

They drove to the outside entrance of the Hotel Congreve. If Derek was in for a one-nighter, he’d be doing it in style. They got out of the car, and Derek watched as Hunter tossed his keys to the uniformed doorman with a nod. Since the Hotel Congreve was way beyond Derek’s means, he had no idea whether it was customary for a doorman to also act as a valet. However, both men seemed to know what they were doing, so Derek just shrugged and followed Hunter into the opulent lobby, noticing how heads turned to watch as they strode toward the elevator. Hunter seemed oblivious to the stir he caused. Once the elevator doors cut the two of them off with a soft whoosh, Derek watched as Hunter punched some numbers onto a keypad.

Then Hunter turned to him and said, “Let’s see what that mouth does with something other than smart-assed comments and bananas, shall we?”

Derek felt Hunter’s kiss all the way down to his toes. It left him swooning like the heroine in a romance novel. The next few hours were a blur, because Hunter was a sensational lover, without inhibitions. They didn’t do anything Derek hadn’t tried before, but he’d never done it all with one man. Especially a man with Hunter’s skill.

Later, Hunter watched with an amused expression as Derek polished off a massive room service order. He’d given Derek a silk robe to wear. Since Hunter was a larger man than Derek, he had to roll up the sleeves to keep them out of his waffles, which made him feel like a kid. Hunter didn’t help matters when he said, “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“That explains your appetite.”

“Why, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.” Hunter patted the bed. “Come back here.”

Derek dropped the robe and joined him under the sheets, game for another session if Hunter was. But Hunter’s amorous mood had faded. He lay quietly against a stack of pillows, smoking and absently rubbing Derek’s skin, which looked milky white compared to Hunter’s.

“This is a huge suite,” Derek said, looking around. “The bathroom is twice the size of my dorm room.” The silence was making Derek edgy, and he always talked too much when he got nervous. “It’s kind of weird that your stuff is all over. The bathroom, I mean. And your drawers and closets are full of clothes. You must be planning to stay in Indiana quite a while?”

“This isn’t a hotel suite,” Hunter said. “It’s my home.”

Derek mulled that over for a few minutes, then, deciding he had nothing to lose, said, “I guess you’re loaded. Living at a hotel must be—”

“I work here,” Hunter said abruptly. “The apartment is part of the package. Tell me about you. You’re a student?”

True to form, Derek began rattling off the details of his life, up to and including his imminent summer exile to Evansville. In an attempt to keep his narrative from boring Hunter, he tossed in stories about other people. His parents’ crazy neighbor, who let her German shepherds eat at the table. His father’s delivery driver, who claimed to be distantly related to John Wayne and hid his male-pattern baldness under a cowboy hat. A friend on his floor in Cromwell Hall who could belch “March On You Fighting Sycamores,” Indiana State’s fight song. He didn’t know if Hunter was listening, but he sure smoked a lot.

“Doesn’t all that smoking interfere with your cycling?” Derek asked.

Hunter gave him a look he couldn’t read, stubbed out his cigarette, and said, “I gather you have no interest in the tool and dye business?”

“Not much,” Derek admitted. “That’s okay with my dad. He’s already handpicked someone he’s going to sell the business to when he retires.”

“Your father sounds like a reasonable man.” Hunter was silent a while, then said, “What if I could offer you a job at the hotel? Our athletic club has a smoothie bar. You’ve shown your skill at satisfying your customers.”

The slight irony in his tone made Derek wince, and he said, “It’s not like I make a habit of this. It was my last day. I was feeling bold.”

“That’s not an answer,” Hunter said.

“I don’t have a place to live. And I don’t think my parents will go for it. They sure won’t pay for me to stay here to work in a smoothie bar.”

“Call your father and tell him you’ve found another way to get home,” Hunter said. “I’ll take you to Evansville in a few days.”

Derek sat up and looked at him, saying, “You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you? Do you do the hiring for the hotel, or what?”

This elicited a faint smile before Hunter said, “Congreve.”

“Right. The Hotel Congreve.”

“You asked for my name. It’s Hunter Congreve.”

So began Derek’s association with one of the descendants of a family who not only routinely made Forbes’ list of wealthiest Americans, but as far as Derek knew, had erected their first hotel within view of Plymouth Rock just after disembarking from the Mayflower.

When Hunter had left him in Evansville a few days later, Derek tried to convince himself that his sinking mood would pass; that before the end of summer, Hunter would be nothing more than a sexy memory. Hunter hadn’t asked for the Andersons’ number, nor did Derek call Hunter at the hotel. His parents seemed to notice his uncharacteristic silence, as well as his lack of enthusiasm about getting in touch with old friends, but they asked no questions.

He’d been in Evansville less than two weeks when he rode home from work with his father one night to see the silver Jaguar parked in front of their house. When they went inside, it had taken all his self-control not to run into Hunter’s arms. Hunter had calmly repeated his offer of a job, but one look at Derek’s face told his parents the whole story.

They’d disguised their shock at the realization that he was gay with protests that a job at the hotel—or anything at the hotel—might derail Derek’s education. Hunter made it clear that as far as he was concerned, finishing college was Derek’s top priority. He displayed an attitude that Derek would come to know well; when Hunter wanted something, he persisted until he got it. The Andersons finally gave in, perhaps believing that a relationship between two people of such disparate backgrounds would quickly fizzle out. They’d been wrong. Although the health club job had never materialized, the Hotel Congreve became Derek’s home.

In the beginning, Derek tried to maintain the pretense that he was a hotel employee who just happened to use the extra bedroom in Hunter’s luxurious apartment. Each morning after Hunter left to go biking, Derek would mess up the extra bed before Juanita, the only member of the housekeeping staff who took care of Hunter’s residence, arrived. She always smiled and nodded with a cheery “Buenos dias,” and Derek assumed she spoke little English. Until one day, as he was leaving to wander the mall while she was there, she gripped Derek’s arm and pulled her wallet from her apron pocket, flipping it open to a photo of a lovely young woman with coal black hair and a gorgeous smile.

“Consuela,” she said. “My other half. Stop forcing me to change two beds, please.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek stammered, blushing.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just letting you know I don’t care where you sleep. You make Mr. Hunter happy. When he’s happy, it’s better for everyone.”

“You’re a big fraud, too, you know, pretending you couldn’t speak English,” Derek complained.

“You assumed,” she said. “Let’s be friends, you and me. We both take care of Mr. Hunter. He was very unhappy before you came.”

Over time, it was Juanita, not Hunter, who gave Derek some of the details of Hunter’s life. He was the youngest of five children and apparently had an overbearing father. He’d been uninterested in the hotel business. His passion was competitive racing, until an accident irreparably damaged tendons and ligaments in one of his knees. His cycling career finished, he succumbed to his father’s wishes and agreed to manage the mall hotel. He rarely talked about his work, but as Derek came to understand him better, he recognized that Hunter’s genius was in knowing whom to hire and how to delegate.

Hunter asked very little of Derek, not even monogamy, although Derek was faithful. Hunter occasionally traveled for work, and Derek thought there might be other men, but they didn’t talk about it. There was a lot they didn’t talk about, and sometimes it maddened Derek. Hunter could be aloof, noncommunicative, and moody, but he also had a wonderful sense of the ridiculous and knew how to make Derek laugh.

Derek made himself useful to Hunter in any way he could, and Hunter made regular deposits to Derek’s bank account. It was like Pretty Woman, only Richard Gere owned the hotel and Derek didn’t have Julia Roberts’s dedication to flossing. Whenever Derek got uneasy about the money, Hunter reminded him that his focus should be on finishing college. He’d have the rest of his life to work; in the meantime, Hunter was simply investing in Derek’s future. It was Hunter who suggested that Derek’s innate love of storytelling made English the perfect major for him. Derek wasn’t sure what he’d do with a degree in English, but Hunter had been right. Once Derek began taking more literature classes, he became a better student.

Hunter also insisted that Derek travel to Evansville regularly to see his parents and spend holidays with them. Hunter never went with him, nor did he ever invite Derek to go to the Congreve family home. Any of the Congreve family homes. Only once had Derek suggested spending Christmas in Massachusetts with Hunter, who’d given him a sardonic look and said, “We don’t exactly roast chestnuts, Derek. I get my performance appraisal and my bonus check from the old man. Then we all go our separate ways to drink heavily and pretend he doesn’t own us.”

Derek had breaks from school other than Christmas. During these, he traveled with Hunter to places like Fire Island, Palm Springs, Key West, and Provincetown, where he felt a little overwhelmed among Hunter’s A-list acquaintances. He was never sure why they went. He liked exploring new places with Hunter, but he was less enthralled by the bounty of drugs and bodies they were offered. All those beautiful, pumped-up men intent on pleasure made Derek feel that he was being presented with an excess of rich desserts when what he really wanted was meat and potatoes.

Or more honestly, all he really wanted was Hunter. Even though Hunter remained something of an enigma to him, Derek was completely in love. Since Hunter was not the kind of man who expressed his emotions, Derek didn’t feel free to vocalize his own feelings, but he told himself it didn’t matter. He learned to read Hunter’s moods and knew his lover wasn’t unhappy, which seemed almost as good as knowing he was happy.

Sexually, Hunter preferred quality over quantity, and Derek adjusted his expectations accordingly. He loved going to bed with Hunter even when they didn’t make love. He liked lying in his arms and telling him stories in the dark. He liked waking up to the sound of Hunter getting ready for work. In the winter months, Derek would get up and make breakfast for the two of them. During good weather, when Hunter got up earlier to ride, Derek would order from room service and linger over his morning coffee until Hunter’s return, giving them a few minutes together before they went their separate ways.

Derek grew comfortable with their routines. Because he saw his friends when he went to class, it wasn’t until he graduated that he realized school was the only place he saw them. As the months passed, he found himself with too many hours on his hands and nothing to do. He began leaving the hotel during the day to wander through the mall, and for the first time in more than two years, he began to really notice other men. He reverted to his childhood hobby of observing and making up stories about men who appealed to him.

At Venus Video, he could check out Hey Boy, who wore faded jeans and had biceps that threatened to rip the seams of his plaid shirts. Derek liked to rent obscure movies from the top shelf just to make Hey Boy strain for them, causing his shirt to rise up and reveal his treasure trail.

Jade Eye Knight, slender and shy, worked the counter at Sirius Dogs and never got any of Derek’s lame innuendos about foot-longs, relish, or special sauce. Glute Guy bowled with a league on Wednesdays and had no idea that Derek sometimes followed him across the Earth level just to look at his amazing ass.

On his mall excursions, Derek often saw MCI Man, so named because he constantly talked on his cell phone through a headset while he went in and out of stores. MCI Man dressed as tastefully as Hunter and had steely gray eyes and flawless skin. Derek noticed that he wasn’t MCI Man’s only fan; he left a trail of lovelorn females wherever he went. On the single occasion that Derek got within five feet of MCI Man, he caught an appealing scent that he’d never been able to find in any men’s fragrance department.

The only one of them that Derek knew was gay was Lube Job, an employee with a blond ponytail at Satellite Drugs who’d gotten his nickname when he’d recommended a better brand of lubricant to Derek while admonishing him to always be safe. Lube Job was too serious and hardworking to flirt, but he didn’t seem to mind Derek’s loitering among the magazines and greeting cards as a way of watching him.

On nights when Hunter had to entertain hotel guests, Derek went online and talked to men all over the country. He entertained his online friends with stories about his Mall Men. If they occasionally flirted with him, he reassured himself that anonymity and distance made it harmless. He never talked about his personal life, but one night in a chat room, a man happened to mention that he worked the night shift at a hotel. Derek stared at his monitor with dismay when it appeared that almost every man there had a story of tricking with a hotel employee. The transient nature of hotels provided the perfect setting.

Derek had signed off and gone to the one place he was always assured of privacy when he needed to think: the roof of the Congreve. He stared at the stars and faced some hard facts about his relationship. Hunter had a career and an entire life that didn’t include Derek. Derek had only Hunter. Hunter paid the bills, made the decisions, and never offered any promises about fidelity or a future. Derek had allowed himself to become dependent on Hunter and made his lover his entire life. Not only was that bad for him, but sooner or later, Hunter would surely tire of being with a man who had so little to offer him.

Derek decided it was time for a change, and the first thing he needed was a job. He sent out résumés online and filled out applications at several places in the mall. Unwilling to take any more help from Hunter, he didn’t tell him he was even looking for a job until he received the offer from Drayden’s.

He’d been so excited that he made a rare visit to Hunter’s office on the executive floor of the hotel. Hunter sat back in his leather chair and heard Derek out, occasionally tapping a finger on his lower lip, a familiar signal that he wasn’t happy. Derek was confused, having expected Hunter to be proud of him for showing initiative.

“If you need more money—”

“No, you’re always generous,” Derek said. “I understood that you wanted to help me when I was in school. But now I need to start taking care of myself.” He waited for some declaration of Hunter’s feelings. Even anger would have been more welcome than his silent perusal.

“I’ll cancel your flight to Miami. You obviously won’t be able to go if you’re starting a new job.”

Your flight, Derek heard loud and clear. Not our flight. So Hunter intended to go even if Derek couldn’t go with him. Hurt, Derek said, “How long will you be gone?”

“A week. That was the plan.” Hunter’s expression indicated that if there was nothing else, Derek was dismissed.

“Have a great time,” was all Derek managed to say before he turned and left the office.

He didn’t understand why Hunter had reacted so coldly, and he felt unjustly accused of something, although he wasn’t sure of what. He decided not to go to their apartment. A few hours away from him might give Hunter time to adjust to the news about the Drayden’s job, or at least to compose his thoughts so that he could tell Derek why he didn’t like the idea.

Derek went to Patti’s Pages, where he spent over three hundred dollars on biographies ranging from Ann-Margret to Zelda Fitzgerald. Then he ate a solitary dinner in the Jupiter Lounge and had a couple of cosmopolitans at the bar afterward.

When he went home, Hunter wasn’t there. Derek watched the clock; as the hours passed, he began to get angry. He knew Hunter was staying away on purpose, something Derek saw as an unnecessary power play, a reminder that Hunter would always have the upper hand in any contest between them. He decided to fight back by not waiting up. He was asleep when Hunter got into bed and woke him with soft kisses on the nape of his neck.

“Derek, wake up. I need you,” Hunter whispered.

Derek turned into Hunter’s arms, too sleepy to hold on to his anger. After they made love, Derek drifted off again. When he awoke, it was morning and Hunter wasn’t in bed. Derek walked through their apartment, but it was empty. With a groan of frustration, he called Riley, Hunter’s assistant.

“Is Hunter in the hotel?”

“He was driven to O’Hare airport about an hour ago,” Riley said.

“Did he leave a message for me?”

“Not with me,” Riley said.

“I’ll call him later in Miami,” Derek said, trying to sound nonchalant. The last thing he needed was the hotel staff gossiping about whether he was being dumped.

It was Hunter who called first. Derek could hear crowd noise through the phone, and he asked, “Where are you?”

“The airport,” Hunter said.

“In Miami?”

“In Los Angeles. Change of plans. The manager of the Sydney Congreve was fired. The old man’s sending me to Australia.”

“Australia! How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure, Derek. I would suspect anywhere from six to twelve weeks. It’s a shame you couldn’t come with me. Australia would be quite an adventure for you.”

The silence on the line stretched between them. Hunter wasn’t going to unbend enough to ask Derek to decline the position at Drayden’s. Derek wasn’t going to halt his baby steps toward a sense of independence. They’d reached an impasse.

“Come home soon,” Derek said.

“I’ll be in touch.”

The days that followed were the loneliest of Derek’s life. Hunter’s absence forced him to acknowledge that he no longer had friends who could support him through a bad time. It was a grim reminder of how things would be if Hunter was finished with him, which seemed likely. When he expressed those fears to Juanita, she shook her head and said, “Mr. Hunter is not tired of you. You’re tired of yourself. It’s time for you to make a life of your own. Not without him. But something that is yours, apart from him.”

All of that was weighing on Derek when he began his new job at Drayden’s, but he was determined to make the best of things. Not only would he be earning his own money, but he hoped to make friends. Vienna had seemed to fulfill that hope. She was funny and nice, and she’d immediately introduced him to Davii. Derek was a little intimidated by Davii’s bold attitude and good looks, but he yearned to have another gay friend like the ones he’d known in college. He also envied the affection that Vienna and Davii shared; he wanted to be part of it.

Vienna’s comment that he was a kept boy had jarred him, reinforcing his fear that Hunter saw him that way, too. But what was he being kept for? Some rainy, romantic Sunday when Hunter might finally realize and verbalize feelings of love? As much as Derek wanted that, he was no longer naïve enough to expect it. Instead, he’d pared down his expectations to a single objective. For his own self-respect, he needed to prove that he wasn’t the kind of man who was just looking for a bank account, a circuit party, or a room service life.