When Rick made a delivery, he stuffed the baggies in his boots and pulled his jeans over them.
Pretty clever, Mel said to him, caressing his bare chest as they lay in the afterglow, sharing a joint.
What's clever? Rick said between kisses.
Stuffing the stuff in your boots and pulling your jeans over your boots.
Right, Rick shrugged.
No, I mean it, Mel said; it makes you have to peel down your jeans so you can dig into your boots every time you make a delivery. And then you know what happens.
Rick winked and touched Mel's cheek, but did not say anything.
He got out of bed and in the candle light looked at himself in the mirror, stretched and posed before turning to Mel and asking, Got any cookies.
In the cabinet over the stove.
At the door, Rick kissed Mel lingeringly, pressing his tongue against Mel's. Then he pulled away and gave him a bright smile.
See you later, he said. Be good. If you need anything, you know my number.
And he was gone; there was nothing but the darkness of night where he had once stood.
He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door of the penthouse open and looked across the empty living room and through the great double glass windows that formed much of the wall opposite. Through them the city glistened against a sky dark despite the flood of light it absorbed.
Rick stretched and pulled off his brown leather bomber jacket, swallowed a yawn and twisted his lean body, feeling his hips and rib cage from inside.
Hey, cutie, workin' late!
Lance had in hand a small Dresden blue cup with gold lace trimmings and was sipping a sugary, Greek coffee, strong enough for the grounds to settle to the bottom of the cup.
You look tired, he said. But that's what you got to go through when you're a hard-workin' girl or when you're a hard working-girl.
Cut the shit, Lance, Rick said quietly, asking more than telling, more like not wanting to play than being really annoyed or angry.
You really are tired, Lance said, putting down his coffee cup and taking the boy in his arms.
Come on, he said. I'll take you to bed.
He led Rick through several large rooms and up a spiraling staircase and through a suite of rooms to the hallway his bedroom door opened onto. He fished into the kid's pocket for the key to the room, hooked it, opened the door, and switched on a table lamp.
Lance was gentle. He quickly had Rick stripped and under the comforter, his beautiful head fallen unconscious before he had even known it was on the pillow. Lance kissed the cheek that glowed with youth and withdrew, shutting the table light as he went.
Rick was glad to see the sunlight's diamond rays refracting through the leafy trellis of the trees that covered his window. He stretched and joyfully caressed his whole body. He sat up and then stood up.
His body was beautiful in the morning, fresh and lean and young and strong.
Thank you, Lance, he said only wearing black mini-briefs, as he came into the kitchen for coffee.
Lance shook his head, dismissing any thanks.
You're lookin' good, Champ. Hot prospects today.
Rick laughed.
Every day, he said.
Lance was quiet.
I know, Rick said.
What do you know? Lance said with a tone of bitchy defiance curling into his voice.
That Ross could not take drag.
That was it, Lance affirmed, all the bitchiness gone.
Anytime you need help, baby, Rick said.
I know, Lance said. But as long as I've got a good cup of coffee and a gym to work out at, I'm alright.
Rick went up to him and kissed his lips gently.
Anytime.
Buzz was a cop who knew how Rick made his money and didn't care as long as Rick always kept a few buds around for him for when he dropped by.
And maybe sometimes it was more.
But Rick didn't mind that. Buzz was hot, dark, handsome, and very messed up, as straight as he seemed.
A wife, two kids, a house in Larchmont, Buzz said, leaning against the headboard, staring at the unlighted joint he rolled between his thumb and forefinger.
And everything I'm doing, he said pensively, putting the joint between his lips, lighting it, taking a big drag in, and expelling it with the pleasure actors used to show in tv commercials exhaling Camels, or Luckies, or Chesterfields, everything I'm doing I don't want to do, except this. And for this, I could get busted big time.
Rick took the joint from him and without saying anything took a short toke on the joint, handed it back to Buzz, held the smoke in his lungs before he let it go and looked at Buzz with an easy intensity of interest.
And for you.
But I'm worth it, Rick said smiling.
Man, Buzz said looking at him in awe, you are something else.
You are, too, Buzz, Rick said.
I'm not like them and I don't want to be like them, Rick said.
Suit yourself, Robinson said.
What's that supposed to mean? Rick said.
What do you want it to mean? Robinson said quietly, as if he were saying something important.
I don't want it to mean anything, Rick said emphasizing the word want. I just want to know what you mean when you say suit yourself after I tell you the way I think about something.
What do you think I can mean? Robinson said, still as quietly as before.
Approval, or disapproval. Your response can indicate either.
Robinson sat without saying anything, unsure which was the better track to take.
Which one would you prefer? he might have asked.
Or he might have passed over the content and gone to character analysis. Does my approval or disapproval affect how you think or how you feel about what you think?
But he did nothing. He sat still and looked at Rick.
Rick exhaled and smiled and nodded his head knowingly.
In another situation, he would have known what move was expected of him. In this one he was checkmated. But it did not really matter. He was wasting his time and his parents' money. But if that was what they wanted, it was not such a difficult way to keep them off his back.
It's ok, man. You don't have to tell me.
It was what Robinson expected, a hipster stance.
He deliberately held himself back and waited to see what happened.
It was raining. Rick had made his last delivery. Now there was money in his boot.
He kept his eyes lost in the far distance as he walked and did not even notice the winks and nods he got from guys wanting to make a pick-up. But he did not trick with that much cash on him.
He pulled the collar of his dungaree jacket higher as the rain became stronger.
You don't have to look at me to feel me.
It was Lance.
Rick snapped into focus.
Lance.
The one and only.
What are you doing here?
Waiting to be discovered.
Rick looked at him, frowned, and said. I'm on my way home.
Mind if I join you?
You live there too. How could I stop you?
Do you want me to give you some ideas?
The rain had not subsided but was stronger. They got out of the park at seventy-second street and waited under the awning of the Dakota until the rain let up.
Kiss me, Lance said, pressing Rick against a building wall.
Rick move slowly, very slowly fascinating Lance with anticipation until Lance felt the boy's lips fasten to his in obedience to his wish.
Rick kissed him submissively and full of wanting. He kissed him from underneath.
It made Lance angry. He held his iron belt buckle as he returned Rick's kisses with kisses that bit into him, that pained him and made him gasp, that turned his kisses into struggles, into surrender.
Come home with me, Lance said.
Sure, Rick said.
[When you write, please enter story name in subject slot. Thanks.]