Chapter Twelve

The letter was printed on cheap paper and signed in ballpoint blue. As a member of a government security agency, he should be harder to find than this. But as a member of a government security agency, he knew that it was nearly impossible to truly hide if the person looking was motivated enough. And it wasn't as if it had come to his home address. Rather to the estate manager for the properties on which he was listed as the owner.

The farm was only a few hours away. He could start driving and be there by dark. He wouldn't though. Instead, he would pick up Arthur from the airport and they'd go to the hotel. Arthur would probably want to go out somewhere nice for dinner. New York was known for its restaurants, after all. A phone number and email were handwritten under the signature. It had already sat with his attorney for months so there was no need to rush any form of reply. He folded the letter back into its envelope and slid it into his pocket. Maybe it would fall out and he could forget about it.

When Arthur was in high school, he'd read The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams. At the time, he had never been more than fifty miles from his hometown, and Adams' long explanation about why no language on Earth had ever produced the expression "as pretty as an airport" stuck in his head. As he twisted around, looking for the signs or arrows that would point him to where he could find a cab, he wondered if Adams had traveled through LaGuardia prior to writing it.

He was so turned around, he almost walked past the man in the black cap and suit who was holding a sign with the name Arthur Dram written on it. He backtracked and looked at the sign. "That's my name, but I didn't arrange a car."

"Mr. Grove arranged one for you. In fact, he is waiting in the car."

Arthur grinned. "Awesome."

He followed the driver out the door. Some part of him wondered if he was about to be kidnapped, but then his phone pinged.

I have arranged for a driver to pick you up. I am waiting in the car.

He trotted a little to keep up with the driver and was sure to crouch down and peak into the long black town car before getting in.

Martin smiled at him. Arthur crawled in and flopped down onto the thick, wide seat. "Oh, I've missed you."

Martin held out his hand and Arthur took it. "I have missed you, too."

Arthur was sure the lights of New York going by outside the slightly tinted windows were lovely, but he figured he could look at them another night. Right now, he just wanted to look at Martin and feel the tension of the holidays bleed from his system.

Martin had insisted on arranging and covering everything, even though Arthur had tried to help. It had almost become their first fight, but Arthur decided it wasn't worth it. They pulled up to a hotel that looked nice from the outside. A uniformed doorman welcomed them while a bellhop took Arthur's luggage and followed them to the elevator. The elevator whisked them up and Arthur watched the numbers climb, wondering how high they would go. They stopped at the top. Arthur was expecting a hallway, not a foyer. The bellhop placed his luggage on a preset stand. "Will there be anything else you require this evening, Mr. Grove?"

"No. We may go out later, but a turndown service will not be necessary."

"Have a good evening then, Mr. Grove."

Arthur was turning around, his jaw slightly open. This had to be bigger than his and Martin's apartments combined. It was absolutely elegant, without being tacky in any way. Arthur was afraid to touch anything.

"You got us the penthouse suite?" Arthur failed to keep the squeak out of his voice.

"I ask my lawyer to arrange lodging where I will feel the most comfortable."

"And he thinks you'll feel comfortable here?"

"He thinks I will have to interact with the fewest number of random people here."

Arthur thought about that for a moment. "Okay, I can see where that might be coming from. Will you be okay if I try dragging you out to museums and tourist traps? I mean, even at this time of year—"

Martin raised a hand and Arthur fell silent. "You will be with me and I will be fine."

"Okay. If you get overwhelmed or your leg starts hurting, promise you'll tell me and we'll bail on whatever it is."

"I promise."

It was barely past six. Arthur wanted to change out of his travel clothes, wash the airport off him, and dive into the New York food scene. Or at least get pizza.

He was drying off from the shower and digging around his suitcase for some clean socks when Arthur felt the sharp edge of plastic under his fingers and pulled a CD case out from under his underwear. "Oh, I have something for you. My mother found it when she was cleaning out some of my old stuff."

Martin took the case and turned it around in his hands. "A CD?"

"It's a music mix I made in high school. There was this guy I was going to give it to, but he made the football team so…" Arthur gave a little shrug and Martin tilted his head in a way that Arthur knew meant he was completely confused. "At my high school, if you were on the football team, you were royalty and you did not accept mixes from commoners. Especially male ones who were into you, occasionally wore eyeliner, and you used to play Dungeons and Dragons with before ascending to the lofty ranks of ‘guys who crashed into each other while trying to chase a ball’ and, wow, that came out sounding way more bitter than I intended."

Martin smiled. "Thank you. What music is on it?"

"Honestly, I have zero idea, anymore. Probably some weird combination of Queen, Bowie, Alanis Morissette, with a little Nirvana thrown in. Maybe. Mostly I remember making it while my mother was out of the house because rock and roll is the Devil's Music."

"Is it?"

Now he could tell Martin was laughing at him a little. "Oh, yes. Even Christian Rock. That's the Devil trying to fool you."

Martin shook his head and tucked the CD into his bag. "And how is your mother?"

"Flourishing. Widowhood suits her well. Though my ex-gym teacher is trying to date her. Going to have to keep an eye on that. She's keeping you on the church prayer list until I tell her your migraines have gone away."

"That might be some time yet."

Arthur let it drop. "So, dinner in New York City. Where would you like to go?"

Martin seldom had an opinion about eating meals out and usually seemed happy to let Arthur take the lead on the food front in general, but New York City was his home turf. He must have one restaurant, or deli, or even a hot dog stand that meant home to him.

"You may choose." Martin glanced away and Arthur resisted the urge to sigh. How do you spend any time in a food mecca and have no place you want to eat?

"Great. I want pizza. A guy I used to know told me about this place in Greenwich Village that's supposed to be perfect. You can show me how to ride the subway."

"I have not done that in many years and not often."

"Then it'll be an adventure."

The subway was like nothing Arthur had ever experienced and yet, almost what he expected. Years of books and film describing the process had not fully prepared him for the way he was jostled as he moved too slowly through the line, the slightly sticky feeling of the pole he clung to. The complete incomprehension of the conductor's voice through the crackling speakers. The odd straining of his muscles as he tried to find a way to stand that would not send him crashing into other riders as the train took a sharp turn, showing him as the obvious tourist that he was.

He completely believed all those stories about strange subspecies of bugs and rodents that had evolved to live within the New York subways. Some of the other riders looked like they were their own species as well: pale, eyes down, and moving easily with every jolt and stop. Martin, at his elbow, as well as a thin film of pride, kept him from getting off at whatever the next stop might be and hailing a cab.

He'd done his best to count stops and memorize maps, putting old training to use, but it was Martin's hand gently at the small of his back that gave him the confidence to step onto the platform and not be horribly lost. The dry, crisp, winter air bit, in sharp contrast to the subtropical humidity that the long tunnels managed to maintain. Turning around to find his bearings, he looked up and saw the IFC theater brightly advertising at least three of his favorite noir films.

"Okay, we're coming back here." He hadn't bothered to check what was in the area when he picked dinner and it had absolutely never crossed his mind to look up this particular theater, but he supposed that was New York. A surprise around every corner, something to discover at every stop. He took a deep breath and his stomach growled. "Right, first, pizza."

The pizza was good. Pepperoni and mushrooms for him and tomatoes and peppers for Martin. But what was better, as far as Arthur was concerned, was that it 'felt' like what he imagined a New York pizza place was. The tables were small. The pizza came on paper plates. The walls were covered in layer after layer of faded gig posters. Add in the glimmer of frozen air threatening snow wafting through Greenwich Village and he could believe Simon and Garfunkel sat there to write "Hazy Shade of Winter".

"How's your pizza?"

Martin nodded as he wiped some grease from his lips. "Good."

While it was fun taking Martin on a foodie world tour, he took a certain amount of pride in getting Martin to have preferences in pizza toppings.

"Is there anything in particular you would like to do tomorrow?" Martin asked. "I have cleared my schedule, with the exception of the 30^th, when I will have to make two stops. You may join me if you wish or explore the city yourself."

Arthur fully planned to stay glued to Martin's side during this trip for all manner of reasons. "Well, if you're up for it, I was thinking of the Met. Start big right? It is New York."

"The Met is big. And a good place to start."

Arthur gave Martin's hand a squeeze before focusing back on his pizza.

After pizza, they strolled through the New York night, letting soft flakes of snow land on their hair. There was no need to rush and the streets were empty enough that their pace would not provoke anyone's ire. Even in the city that never sleeps, things seemed to be spinning down for the night.

Martin watched as Arthur eagerly noted down the location of an all-night diner as well as the upcoming schedule of the theater outside the subway station. He had no doubt they would be returning, judging by the look on Arthur's face.

The ride back was easier. Somehow the rattle and screech of the trains seemed muffled by the snow above.

By the time the elevator was whisking them to the uppermost level of their hotel, he could see Arthur holding back the exhaustion of travel. Martin also had the feeling he hadn't slept well while visiting home.

"Definitely time for bed," Arthur mumbled, stretching out his arms and rolling his neck.

"I agree." As Martin took off his coat, he felt the envelope still in his pocket. It was absurd carrying it around, but for some reason he didn't want to leave it in the room. He shoved it back in, hearing the crackle of the paper, and got ready for bed, looking forward to sleep with the sound of Arthur gently breathing beside him.