Blake entered his apartment and looked around at all he’d amassed in such a short time. The comfortable apartment, definitely a man’s abode, was filled with new furniture in subtle shades of brown and gray. The furnishings—a sofa, coffee table, TV, bookshelf, two comfortable armchairs, and a dining room table that could accommodate eight—served only the necessities of life. On the wall above the table hung a simple, framed watercolor, purchased at an art fair. Other than that small touch, the remaining walls of Blake’s condominium were bare. The two bedrooms, too, were outfitted with only the essentials—beds, nightstands, and dressers. Blake walked over to the windows and marveled at the city, spread out below. He went to the bookshelf and took down his book, Haunted: My Life as a Carnival Medium, the vehicle that had propelled him to fame. His thoughts turned to his past and all that had happened after he left his parents and the circus.
His parents had, of course, insisted on driving him to an Amtrak station to see him off. This meant not only that they would be with him right up to the last minute, but it would delay his departure until the circus caravan was able to swing by a city with a train station, in this case, Kansas City. Both Lila and Ben, after much difficulty doing so, had convinced him that his idea of hitchhiking to a train station was not only foolish, but dangerous.
“Besides,” his father said, “there are too many loose ends to tie up before you run off to California.” And so Blake had grudgingly stayed on, long enough to reach Kansas City. Once there, in the presence of Anna, aka the Fat Lady, and Simon, touted as the World’s Tallest Man, Blake bade his parents a teary farewell.
Passersby in the crowded station eyed the odd-looking party with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, but Blake ignored them.
“You call as soon as you get there.” Lila sniffed, not bothering to hide her tears.
Blake hugged his mother tight.
“How will I reach you?” he asked, amused by his mother’s absentmindedness. Cell phones weren’t yet commonplace, and the traveling circus depended on pay phones for any contact with the outside world.
“We’ll be in Cedar Rapids in a week,” Ben said. “Call their post office and leave word for us, with a phone number if you have one. We’ll get your message.”
All Blake was taking with him was five hundred dollars he’d saved from his portion of the proceeds, a duffel bag containing two pairs of blue jeans, four T-shirts, socks, and six pairs of clean underwear. He was wearing everything else. Impetuously, Lila removed the St. Christopher medal she wore around her neck on a chain.
“You take this,” she said, placing it around Blake’s neck. “It will keep you safe.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he replied, tucking the medal under his T-shirt.
Blake boarded the train and took a seat at a window near where his family stood on the platform. As the train pulled out of the station, he returned their waves and watched as they slowly faded from sight. With each inch the train moved, each mile, Blake could feel an excitement building inside of him, an excitement for the new and uncharted. Blake did his best to quiet his doubts, the thought that maybe he was making a mistake.
The first night on the train was exhilarating. Although filled with a mixture of melancholy and fear, Blake was also filled with anticipation. Not only was he headed to San Francisco, but nobody on the train knew he could see and talk to ghosts or that he had just left a circus. For the first time in his life, he was truly on an adventure.
Blake looked around the crowded car. There were ghosts, of course, but he did his best to ignore them by refusing to make eye contact. No, ghosts were the last thing Blake wanted to deal with on the first day of his new life. He peered out the window at the passing scenery, reminded of his childhood and all the places the circus had taken him. A voice behind him jarred Blake from his thoughts.
“Is this seat taken?”
Blake turned to see a tall blond in his early twenties standing in the aisle. He motioned to the vacant seat next to Blake for clarification.
“No,” Blake replied.
The blond, wearing khaki shorts and a T-shirt with the UCLA logo, placed his backpack in the overhead bin before sitting down beside Blake. The clean-shaven new arrival had a nice chiseled jawline and high cheekbones. His blue eyes twinkled when he spoke.
“I’m Chance,” he said.
“I’m Blake.” Blake offered his hand.
“Where are you headed?”
“San Francisco.” Blake admired Chance’s muscular calves and his chest, which was bulging inside his tight T-shirt.
“Great city. Are you visiting friends, or do you live there?”
“I live there. Well, I plan to live there—”
“Wow,” Chance said. “You’re moving there right now. How exciting.”
Chance shifted in his seat and his bare leg came to rest against Blake’s leg. Blake swallowed and felt an erection stirring in his jeans. He couldn’t move, afraid Chance would move his leg away. He sat, silently staring at the muscular leg, mesmerized by the blond hairs covering it.
Blake had never been with another man. He had been attracted to plenty of them: visitors to the circus, clerks in shops, even a brief crush on the strong man, but had never had the opportunity to act on his urges.
When Blake finally looked up, Chance was staring at him, then asked, “Are you gay?” His voice was barely audible.
Blake felt his face flush. “Yes,” he managed.
He locked eyes with Chance, astonished at how blue his eyes were. Blake wanted to say something but his mouth felt dry. He wanted to touch Chance’s face but felt riveted to his seat.
A smile slowly crept across Chance’s handsome face. “Come on,” he said, rising from his seat. “I have a sleeper car.”
*
Sex with Chance was amazing. For the first time since leaving his parents in Kansas City, Blake felt certain he had done the right thing by leaving. No longer a virgin, he now viewed his new adventure in an entirely different way. He was no longer a child, and he felt as if he could accomplish anything. Finally, life was starting to make sense. Hungry for the physical contact he had only imagined up to that point, Blake had sex multiple times with Chance on their trip west. And Chance, though seeming astonished and physically exhausted by Blake’s stamina and sexual appetite, clearly appreciated his beautiful body and desire to fuck.
“You could always move to LA instead,” Chance suggested.
Blake shook his head slowly. “I’ve pretty much decided on San Francisco. Besides, I bought a travel guide and everything.” He pulled a San Francisco travel guide from his bag. “You could stay in San Francisco.”
“I live in LA,” Chance said. “Besides, I have to get back to school.”
Neither of them said anything else until the train was at the station.
As they parted, they promised to keep in touch. Chance wrote his phone number on a piece of paper. “Call me if you’re ever in Los Angeles.” Chance winked at him. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”
“I will,” Blake was sorry to part with his new friend so soon. He folded the paper and tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans.
He waved good-bye to Chance and carried his bag out onto the busy street, pausing to retrieve his San Francisco travel guide. As he did so, the paper with Chance’s phone number slipped unnoticed from his pocket and drifted down the street, carried by the wind.
He was just the first of many Blake would forget.
*
Blake had picked San Francisco as his home not just because of its tolerant attitude toward gays, but also for its bohemian atmosphere. At least in San Francisco, Blake had reasoned, the fact that he came from a circus family shouldn’t seem too weird.
He took an apartment in the North Beach neighborhood, situated above an Irish pub. As promised, he called his parents with his new address and quickly found work at an Italian bakery around the corner. Although Blake had no formal training, the owner, a boisterous Italian American named Carlo, was happy to have the help and taught him everything he knew. North Beach did little to free Blake of his ability to see ghosts and was full of spirits: the ghosts of Barbary Coast bandits, Chinese immigrants, and dead Beat Poets. The spirits of Janis Joplin and gangsters roamed the streets of the lively district beside the spirits of World War Two sailors and soldiers.
Blake might have made a quiet life for himself there, except for a chance encounter one evening after work. Sitting at a sidewalk table at the Irish pub below his apartment, he had been joined by a blond woman in her fifties sitting at a neighboring table. She was tastefully dressed in a taupe, two-piece suit with matching high heels, and it was obvious that her matching bracelet, necklace, and rings had been carefully chosen. She was glamorous in a way only European women could successfully manage and was drinking a glass of red wine. She introduced herself as Donatella. As she prodded him for details of his life, Blake finally broke down and, somewhat sheepishly, admitted he’d grown up in a circus. The further confession that he could speak to the dead had made Donatella gasp. Blake sensed her skepticism.
“Prove it,” she had said, and touched Blake’s arm. “Show me your gift.”
Blake sighed. He was in no mood for theatrics, especially at a sidewalk table. But part of him was angry at her because she didn’t believe him and because, like so many others, she couldn’t see what was right in front of her.
Or, in Donatella’s case, right behind her.
“What do you want to know?” he had asked, and glanced from side to side to make sure no one else was listening.
“Anything,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Are there any ghosts here?”
Even though the sidewalk was alive with pedestrians and traffic was heavy on Columbus Avenue just a few feet away, she looked around as if they were alone in a darkened, haunted house.
Blake closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them and looked at the expectant Donatella, he saw a bright, hazy light just over her left shoulder. As he stared at the light an old woman’s face came into focus.
“Your Nana is here,” he said, still looking at the ghost of the old woman. “She says the china was meant for you and not your little sister.”
Donatella jumped up and Blake was afraid he had said too much. She reached into her Gucci handbag and produced a business card, which she passed to him, her hands shaking.
Blake took the card but, before he could look it over, Donatella stepped away from her table and out onto the sidewalk.
“Call me,” she said, visibly shaken. “I think we can work together.”
As she retreated down the sidewalk, her expensive shoes noisy on the concrete, Blake looked down at the embossed card in his hand.
Donatella Ferrari
Literary Agent
*
Blake was surprised at how easy writing came to him. Under the guidance of Donatella, Blake’s first book, Haunted: My Life as a Carnival Medium, became an instant bestseller. Suddenly, Blake was thrust into a spotlight he hadn’t quite counted on. There were book signings and lectures and even an interview in a PBS piece on the existence of ghosts. Thanks to Donatella, Blake was making more money than he knew what to do with. His first large purchase was a two-bedroom condominium perched atop Nob Hill.
The prestigious address suited his new celebrity well, and from his living room windows Blake could see the Fairmont, the Mark Hopkins, and the Huntington hotels, the elder “gentlemen” of the hill. Just past the Fairmont, downtown San Francisco, Union Square, and the financial district spread across the landscape, leading up to the bay and the famous Bay Bridge. From his bedroom window Blake could see Chinatown and North Beach and, past that, Alcatraz and the distant shores of Sausalito. He felt like a king or an emperor up on the hill with its impressive views, the spectacle made all the more dramatic at sunset, when the dying sun in the west illuminated the surrounding hotels in fiery splendor.
His second expenditure—the brainchild of Donatella—was to open a business, Danzig Paranormal Investigations, in a small storefront on the edge of Chinatown. Donatella had reasoned that with the success of his book, he would surely draw customers in need of his assistance. As usual, Donatella’s instincts had been right and, within a very short period of time, Blake had more business than he had imagined possible. The owners of haunted houses, apartments, and businesses kept Blake busy. Usually, Blake would merely ascertain for the owner whether the spirit was malevolent. Often, with the spirit’s consent, Blake would help them “cross over,” thus ridding the premises of the spirit.
Blake’s next big break also arrived thanks to the machinations of the resourceful and well-connected Donatella. Gambling on the success of Blake’s book, she had approached the FX network with an idea for a ghost-hunting show based, in part, on the already existing success of the genre. Unlike the competition, she had argued, Blake’s gift was real and the fans of his book would become loyal viewers. Blake had at first balked at the idea of television, but when he realized he would be able to travel and that the pay was ridiculously high, he relented. Besides, Blake told himself, traveling around California would give him the opportunity to meet lots of men. The show, which aired under the title Haunted California, was a huge success. The premise was simple and only expanded what Blake already did in San Francisco. He would visit supposedly haunted locations—houses, museums, hotels and parks—and communicate with any spirits that resided there.
Along with a camera crew, the network paired Blake with Melody Adams, a self-professed witch and clairvoyant. Although Blake had never doubted his gift, he was grateful for the assistance Melody offered, as his own skills had nothing to do with clairvoyance or psychic work. He was a medium, period, and had always shied away from the all-encompassing terms “psychic” and “clairvoyant.” Melody, however, was a clairvoyant in the true sense of the word. She could sense things in people and places in ways that amazed even Blake. Together, they made a team that the viewers of Haunted California came to love.
Still in his early twenties, with more money than he ever imagined, Blake had grown into quite the successful young man, with a best-selling book, a thriving business, and his own television show. And, with his unassuming good looks, he quickly began to meet men attracted to his good looks and success.
And then he met Brian.