That thought has me tugging at my suffocating tie when her buddy Trevor steps onto the deck. He nods politely when he sees me, withdrawing a cigarette case from his jacket pocket. His double-breasted charcoal suit is crisp and handsome on him. The wire frames look sexy, too, and I’ve got to admit he’s the kind of guy that maybe in some alter universe would have appealed to me. Yeah, it’s true; I’ve always gone for those brainy types.
He sidles up to me, draping one arm over the railing in a nonchalant, debonair pose, and removing a cigarette from his case, asks, “What do you make of Cat?” Guess he’s referring to the way she nearly wrapped herself around me, kissing me full on the mouth when we first met by the front door tonight.
“A real piece of work.”
“Yes, well that’s a politic answer, isn’t it?” He flips open a Zippo, and I reach for it, lighting his cigarette for him. He tosses me a very curious gaze, which I pointedly ignore. Trevor knows my score—and I know how to treat a fellow queer boy. Hell, Alex raised me right.
Puffing on the cigarette, he takes a long drag, staring down into the bright lights below. “Rebecca looks lovely tonight,” he says after a moment, pocketing the lighter again. “Don’t you think?”
“Rebecca’s always gorgeous,” I agree heartily, and I see a real smile appear on her best friend’s face.
“I hate to admit it, but I think you might be good for her,” he says quietly, staring away from me. It’s obviously a problem for him, me with her.
“Hate to admit that why?”
“Look, Michael,” he says, turning to face me. “Rebecca’s very dear to me, and I want to be sure that you’re careful. Mindful of her feelings, and all that. I mean, you can’t go jumping tracks midway here. This is Rebecca, and she’s not up for the confusion of that.”
I cough, choking on my beer. “Jumping tracks?”
“Switching from AC to DC, if you prefer.” At least he’s got the balls to smile as he says it.
“Strictly a monogamous kind of guy. I just choose my team going in.” Trevor needs to know my playbook rules.
“I’m more of a lifetime player. I mean, I don’t quite understand how you can be satisfied without…” He pauses, then shrugs by way of explaining precisely what he couldn’t do without.
“Yeah, well that’s your deal,” I say point-blank. “It’s different for me.”
“As I say, I don’t get it, but Rebecca’s the only one who matters in that regard, and obviously she does understand.”
“What do I understand?” Rebecca’s quiet voice interrupts, and we both turn to find her stepping out onto the balcony, champagne in hand. She’s flushed from the crowded party, her golden hair spilling in a tumble down her shoulders. My first thought is that she looks like she’s been doing a hell of a lot more than mingling in that party. My second thought is that I’d play for any damned team she’s part of.
Trevor leans in to give her a kiss. “You’re smashingly beautiful tonight, sweetie.” Deft topic change, got to hand it to the guy.
“Were you flirting with my date?” she counters, kissing him back, then looks at me, offering, “He can be a terrible flirt, so watch yourself.”
Trevor narrows his eyes, assessing my apparent worth, then declares, albeit with a devilish expression, “I think he’s safe.” Not sure if I’m safe for her, or safe from him, but either way I understand the meaning.
Rebecca swats him on the arm, giving me an apologetic look, and he adds, “But if there’s a real queer in there, as opposed to the quasi-straight kind, I plan to chat him up.”
So that’s my answer, the big one I’ve been searching for all year. With Alex gone, I’m nothing but a quasi-queer of the somewhat straight variety.
Marti’s right—I’ll bet Al is laughing his ass off right about now.
***
Thank God I’m in permanent possession of a key to Casey’s Malibu beach home, and that he reminded me of that fact. And thank God that even though my friend can be a definite jerk, he’s also from big-time money, so that he owns said beach home. The doorway is shadowed and pitch-black, and I have to fumble with my keys for what feels forever, cars whirring past us on the coastal highway. Like most of the houses on this narrow strip of coastline, Casey’s abuts the road with only a thin wedge of asphalt in front. The world out here keeps washing away, one infinitesimal grain of sand at a time.
“Just take me a minute,” I assure Rebecca, glancing at her sideways. She’s slipped off her high heels, and they’re dangling from her fingertips. I can’t help imagining stripping her out of a lot more than those shoes—every last morsel of fabric, as a matter of fact. Can’t help dreaming about running my hands over every inch of her svelte, feminine body. God, it’s been too long. Too long since I’ve made love that way and now that it’s close, I’m practically coming unglued.