Late Saturday afternoon, Wally and I took a walk around Millennium Park to get a little air and exercise before Ken arrived.
When we returned to the residence, Lawrence, the concierge caught my eye and gestured to me. As I approached his desk he said, “Mr. Thompson, I have the mail that’s been accumulating since your trip.”
I accepted the small stack, issuing him a smile. “Thanks, Larry. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be having a guest in an hour or so. His name is Ken. You can just send him up, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Thompson.”
I started to take a step when Wally whined, attention on Lawrence.
“Oh, Wally! I have something for you, too.” He slapped his forehead and walked out from behind the counter. Wally wagged his tail and started dancing in anticipation for the treat he knew the concierge would give him.
“You’re a good boy, you are,” Lawrence said, kneeling. “How’s about a shake?”
Wally dutifully sat down and offered a paw to the man.
He laughed heartily, enjoying the routine he had with the dog. One treat and several pats and praises later, we made our way toward the elevator.
My cell rang, Ernesto was calling. Not wanting to trap anyone in the elevator with me while I carried on a conversation, I backed away from the elevator doors and answered the phone.
“So?” I asked without preamble. “How was it?”
I hadn’t heard from Ernesto since the day he and Paulie left for their honeymoon in Arizona. Ernesto was a photographer who worked primarily in fashion. Fashion photography paid well, but Ern’s heart was in nature photography. Their Arizona honeymoon had come about because Paulie was able to give Ern the wedding gift of permits for them to hike the North Coyote Buttes in Vermilion Cliffs National Monument. These permits were hard to come by, but Ernesto had always wanted to photograph the beautiful waves in the Navajo sandstone.
“Oh! Steven, it was breathtaking,” he gushed. “As soon as I saw the waves, I began to weep. Paulie, he too, was so overcome with the majesty of the land, he cried as well.”
I smiled, imagining Paulie, who was, despite being a fashion model on display in magazines and on billboards in all manner of undress, not given to revealing his emotions openly for anyone to see.
“Wow,” I said. “I can’t wait to see the pictures. If Paulie’s crying in front of your guide, then it had to be spectacular.”
“Yes, yes,” he agreed dismissively. “But I wanted to tell you about something. We need to plan a night out because we went to see Paulie’s abuelita yesterday and, you know, she is just a sweetheart, always trying to be so…” He paused. “She just tries to show him that she’s supportive of us. Anyway, she says to Paulie, ‘Come meet my new neighbor he’s a gay, just like you!’”
I laughed, “A gay, huh?”
“Paulie said, ‘Nonna, we don’t have to meet every gay person you come across.’ But she said, ‘No, you will love him! So fun! So interesting!’ And like the good grandsons we are, we went next door and met him.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, suspicion developing.
“He’s forty-one, single, kind of cute. He’s got salt and pepper hair.”
“Oh, boy,” I muttered.
“And, get this! On the weekends, he’s a clown!”
Aaaannnnd, there it was.
“A clown. Seriously? You think I should date a clown?” My friends were now actively trying to set me up with circus people. This might have been an all-time low.
I saw a nearby guard, Damon, flash a grin at my words. I decided to take the elevator. As I waited for the door to open, Ern continued.
“Yes! He’s got a trunk full of costumes and magic trick stuff. He does balloon animals…” he sing-songed, cajoling—as if the ability to shape dogs out of balloons was peak bangability.
“Oh, my!” I said, sarcasm dripping from my lips. “Balloon animals? Why, it’s more than I ever dreamed.”
“Oh. Excuuuse me,” Ernesto drawled, offended. “Sorry I didn’t read the rule that said mimes were fine, but clowns weren’t.”
“It was one mime, one time!” I defended. And because I knew Damon was listening, I added for shock value, “Turned out, he was a screamer. Who woulda thought?”
Damon coughed.
The doors to the elevator opened, but before Wally and I stepped in, I covered my mouthpiece and playfully admonished the guard, “You get more than you bargain for when you eavesdrop on me.”
The doors closed and I turned my focus back to Ern, who was still making his case.
“Also, did you, or did you not tell me that in college you let a fire-eater blow you?” he demanded.
I combed my hair with my hand and let out a sigh. Ernesto only meant well. He didn’t know I was on a penis hiatus, and I wasn’t about to go into it with him, either. He’d only accuse me of being melodramatic and redouble his efforts to find me a man. It was best if I simply thanked him and gave a reasonable excuse for not meeting Bozo.
“Yes, Ern, that’s all true,” I agreed. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I just got back from Germany and I’m wrecked. I’m dog-sitting for Dan so I’m really not down to clown this weekend, alright?”
“That’s fine. But I want you to come out with us soon. Whether Scooter is there or not.”
“His clown name is Scooter, huh?” I asked, imagining a guy in full clown regalia, cruising up, honking the horn of a brightly colored Vespa.
“No, Scooter is his real name,” Ernesto replied. “His clown name is Charlie.”
I shook my head, exasperated. “Okay, we’re done. Talk to you later.”
Before I clicked off, I heard Ern yell, “Tell Wally I love him!”
When I entered the apartment, I dropped the mail and keys onto the side table and asked the dog, “How do you do it? All the boys are falling over themselves to get a little tail wiggle from you.”
Wally kept silent.
“Oh, secrets. I get it.”
I unfastened his leash and he trotted over to make himself comfortable on my brand-spanking-new, spacious, gray area rug. I cringed. There was a reason I usually watched Wally in Dan’s apartment. Wally was certainly a good boy, housetrained as well as a dog could be, but I didn’t love fur and dog smell on my furniture and accessories.
But Ken was coming over for dinner and I couldn’t host him in Dan’s place, so I decided to allow Wally to make himself at home all over my beautiful rug.
“You just keep your paws off the couch, mister. Got it?” I warned.
Checking the time, I decided to place our dinner order and jump in the shower.
I was strangely nervous about Ken coming over, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with him, necessarily. I’d felt off all week. Getting that ominous message from King, then having to focus on meetings and proposals had resulted in little sleep. When Dan asked if I’d watch Wally, I nearly refused, remembering Ken and I were supposed to listen to jazz. But the thought of going out felt exhausting, so I agreed to dog-sit, thinking I’d beg off and see Ken another day.
But simply talking with him on the phone reminded me of why I wanted to hang out. I regretted that I was going to cancel, so I impulsively invited him here.
The food arrived before Ken and I eyeballed the array. I’d gone a little overboard, worrying about what he’d like to eat. I made the assumption beef was okay, since he’d eaten a burger at the sports bar last week, but I wanted to make sure he had a selection, so I ordered six dishes. Broccoli beef, sweet and sour pork, shrimp chow mein, General Tso chicken, orange chicken, and something called Vegetarian Paradise. All the bases were covered. I surmised that if he couldn’t find something he liked, then he just didn’t like Chinese food.
When he arrived, I opened the door to find him looking very handsome and dapper. His blond hair, which was longer on the top, usually had some unruly waves that looked haphazard and adorable. Tonight, those curls were subdued with product. I suspected they wouldn’t stay put for long, but it was clear Ken was going for a tidy look. It was equally adorable.
He was also wearing a tie and blazer. His blue shirt matched his eyes, making them glow. The effect was startling. His attire seemed an odd choice for hanging out in my apartment and eating out of cardboard boxes, but I couldn’t deny that he looked great. No one hated eye-candy and I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Well, good evening, McPretty MD,” I said happily, moving aside to let him in.
“MST3K,” he greeted, smiling widely.
“Did you just come from a modelling convention? Because you look dashing as hell.” I wanted to acknowledge his efforts. It was hard not to remark on his epic levels of handsome, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by lacing words with sexual innuendo. I was trying very hard to keep it neutral. I had no idea at this point if he could take any teasing flirtation from another man without being uncomfortable.
Ken’s wide smile turned sheepish—more adorableness—and he said, “Thanks, you look good, too.” He lifted a bottle of wine. “I brought this. I didn’t know if you liked wine, but it seemed like a good choice to go with dinner.”
It was a good choice, as it was a Chenin blanc, and would pair nicely with most of the dishes I ordered.
“I do like wine, thank you. I bought beer just in case you were a beer drinker.”
“I enjoy both,” he said, glancing around the apartment. His eyes took in the art I had displayed, my furniture, and the large windows that showcased a spectacular view of Lake Michigan in the waning sunlight. After a moment, he brought his eyes back to mine. “But I rarely drink. Between years of working long hours, and special occasions being few and far between, I haven’t been a regular drinker since my first couple years of undergrad.” He grinned. “I’m probably a light-weight at this point.”
“Meanwhile, I could drink you under the table,” I quipped, walking to the kitchen.
Ken trailed behind me, and I gestured to the many take-out boxes littering the granite countertop. “There’s lots to choose from. I hope you’re hungry.” I reached into the cabinet and grabbed a few plates, determined not to let Dr. Dapper McPretty eat from the box.
“Steven, you didn’t have to buy dinner—or order so much. I would have gladly bought the food.”
I waved away his protest and started to open the wine. “I’m the host.”
“But I asked you out first,” he argued, brows drawn in annoyance.
“Ken,” I began, my tone serious. “Let’s get real here for a moment. I make a good living. So do you. Neither one of us are trying to get a free meal out of the other, right?” He nodded. “The more we hang out, the money will even out.” At that, he seemed to completely relax. He was back to smiling. I liked his smile. I also kind of perversely liked his hair-trigger annoyance. He was fun.
“My friend Janie is the same way,” I continued. “And it occasionally sucks the fun out of lunch for me. We’ll be having a great time; good food, pleasant atmosphere, fascinating conversation…then, BAM!” I clapped my hands. “The check arrives, and we have to argue about things. It’s a mood killer. Don’t kill the mood, DKM.”
He patted my back and said, “I won’t. Thank you for dinner.” He reached for a plate and started to dig through the boxes.
It was then that Wally let out a loud bark from the spare bedroom, reminding me I needed to set him free. I always locked Wally up when people came in and out of the apartment, as he was excitable.
Ken’s bent head shot up at the noise. “You are dog-sitting.”
“Yeah, I told you,” I reminded on my way out of the kitchen. Halfway down the hall, I called out a warning, “He’s going to be excited, watch out!”
Wally took off out of the bedroom, no doubt as interested in the new person as the smells of the take-out.
“Oh!” I heard Ken exclaim. He sounded as excited as Wally looked. “Hello there! Aren’t you a good boy?”
When I entered the kitchen, Ken was bent over Wally, giving him vigorous pats on his flank.
I began pouring our wine and said, “God, Wally, quit hogging all the men. Leave some for the rest of us, wouldya?”
Ken laughed and crossed to the sink to wash his hands. “He’s a friendly pup, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is,” I agreed. “But please don’t fall for any begging. He doesn’t get table scraps on my watch.”
I proceeded to the living room, set my wine and plate on the glass top coffee table, and settled on the couch, ready to give Ken my rule of the house. But when I looked up, his brows were furrowed with concern.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Your couch is really nice. And white. Should we eat here?”
I was touched—on a soul level. I laid my hand on my heart as if I were overcome by emotion. “Ken, I think we should get married,” I said with faux solemnity. “You get it. I’ve finally found someone who gets it.” I rubbed my hand reverently along the soft material of the sofa. “I trust you to be careful. After all, doctors have steady hands, right? I’ll just keep my eye on your wine intake.” I patted the seat forcefully and ordered, “Come and eat.”
He stood for a beat, hovering with his plate and glass before joining me.
“Any ideas what movie you’d like to watch? We could rent anything, or you could choose from what I have already.” With the remote, I accessed my movie library and began scrolling.
“Wow, that’s a lot. Have you watched them all?”
“Of course. Most of them several times. I liked them, that’s why I bought them.”
“You watch movies more than once?”
“Uh, yeah. Doesn’t everybody?” I asked. But I knew the answer. Ken didn’t. Ken wasn’t like everybody.
“I don’t,” he replied. “I mean, I’ve seen some movies more than once. When I was a kid, I watched The Wizard of Oz every year. But as an adult, I guess I don’t see the point of revisiting a story I already know the end of. The thrill of a book or movie,” he continued, “is to work up to the climax. It’s nearly impossible to feel the same things the second or third time around. My time would be better spent watching something new and different.”
I took a sip of my wine and mulled over his words, thinking about why I watched my favorite movies time and time again. I decided that Ken was both right and wrong. “I agree that watching a film or reading a book for the second time won’t produce the same emotion and anticipation it did initially,” I said, nodding. “But, for me, I’ve found new things to love and enjoy about them the second or third time. Jokes I’ve missed, clues I hadn’t realized were important before—or just enjoying the nuances of a great performance that I only cursorily noticed, rather than savored or appreciated the first time around. Second and third views, especially with films that completely blow your mind, can reveal some surprising layers.”
Ken took a drink then nodded thoughtfully. “I guess I can see that. Maybe I’ve just never had my mind blown or finished a movie thinking I missed an aspect or didn’t get to appreciate all that it had to offer.” He twisted his torso toward me, setting his wine on the tabletop. “What movies have you loved that made you come back for more?”
“That’s a hard question, because so many have.”
“Off the top of your head,” he prompted.
“Well, I do really like movies that are thought-provoking or confusing. Those are mostly dramas or thrillers, but I do have a soft spot for comedy. I guess the first few that come to mind are Memento, Pi, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and um,” I struggled to think of one that wasn’t so weird. “And maybe The Red Violin. Those were all great.”
Ken’s face broke out into a smile and he said, “I’ve seen Memento! Yeah, that was confusing. I’d agree that a second watch would not only be useful, but maybe even necessary.”
I laughed, inordinately happy that he’d agreed with me. “Exactly right! I’ve seen it a few times and I’m not totally convinced I know what the hell happened.”
Ken held out his hand for the remote and asked, “Do you mind if I look through the movies?”
“Not at all,” I assured him, handing it over. “Pick anything that you want. I’m easy.”
While he searched, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Dan to let him know Wally and I were at my place. He responded almost immediately.
DAN: Thanks, I’ll be back soon. I’m in the data center with Alex and Quinn. Q’s bitching in my ear about archival capacity.
I shook my head at my phone. If Quinn was raising a fuss about the surveillance parameters, I knew my next task was going to be figuring out how much it was going to cost to make an upgrade. He’d archive the data for an eternity if he could.
“How about this?” Ken asked, pulling my attention from the phone.
“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Excellent.”
We started the movie and dug into our dinner. Early on, Ken shed his jacket and tie, and when he finished eating, he leaned back and draped his arm over the backrest. His position prevented me from leaning back without some awkwardness, so even after I’d finished my food, I continued to watch the movie with my upper body pitched forward, forearms on my knees. I didn’t mind too much, though. A glance at Ken’s relaxed posture gave me a sense of accomplishment. I loved that he was at ease with me.
About midway through the movie, there was a knock at the door. Wally bounded up from his spot on the rug and started wagging his tail. I paused the movie and said, “That’s likely Dan.” I stood up, grabbed Wally’s leash and answered the door.
Dan stood at the threshold, a tired smile on his face. “Thanks again. Sorry it took so long. I finally had to say, ‘Look, this is Chachi’s problem, not mine. I’m going to bed.’” Chachi was the nickname Dan used for Alex when he was particularly irritated. I had no idea why he called him that, but he used it with regularity.
Dan, thankfully, didn’t appear eager to stay for any longer than it took to fetch Wally. I was prepared to put him off if he had, though, because I didn’t relish Ken and Dan recognizing each other. Dan had been Elizabeth’s shadow in the hospital when the attack occurred. No doubt both of them had some opinions about the other. Not only did I want to avoid Ken disparaging Dan, I really didn’t want to give Dan any further ammo for “busting my balls.”
When I returned to the living room, Ken was standing next to a shelf, examining the trio of framed pictures I had of my sister and her family.
He glanced over his shoulder at me and asked, “Sister?” He had obviously deduced our relationship easily, as Sophie and I looked eerily alike.
“Yes, that’s my sister Sophie, her husband Tom Thumb, and their girls Amalia and Ophelia.”
“Tom Thumb?” he asked.
“His name is Thomas,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “But he’s short, like really short, and a total asshole to boot, so I call him Tom Thumb.” I didn’t like Thomas, and I was pretty sure he hated me.
Ken fully faced me and asked, worry lacing his tone, “Is he mean to your sister? Your nieces?”
“No, no,” I assured him. “He’s kind to them, from what I can tell. He just doesn’t like me.”
“That sounds like it could make the holidays rough. Why doesn’t he like you?” He flashed me a meaningful grin. “How could he not love a delight such as yourself?”
I laughed, remembering when I told Ken I was a delight. “I know, right?!” I sobered a bit and replied, “If you ask my sister, the reason is because I’m too outspoken and I get on his nerves.”
Ken tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “But what do you think?”
I paused, a little reluctant to continue. Thomas wasn’t a sore spot, necessarily. But his dislike of me was rooted in his intolerance for my obvious homosexuality. Sophie wasn’t much help in that respect, preferring to mimic our dad’s advice that if I were just a little less conspicuous about it, people like Thomas wouldn’t dislike me so much. Whenever I was bullied in school Dad made a point to not give me any sympathy about it, saying I brought it on myself—that if I was smarter, I’d know how to keep these things from happening to me. I’m sure my dad and sister thought they were supportive and had my best interest at heart, but Thomas was a reminder that they thought I needed to be different to keep others from actively hating me.
The result? I didn’t lay my problems out for other people. I kept them to myself. I didn’t want well-meaning, shitty advice, didn’t want anyone knowing I had problems, or to hope for help when no one really cared. Which is why Ken and I had a stare-down before I finally capitulated.
“I think if I were straight, he wouldn’t mind my outspokenness.”
He frowned. “That’s…really fucked up. I’m sorry you have to deal with him.”
I shrugged. “He’s not important, it’s fine. I don’t see him much and when I do, the worst of it is that he either ignores me or gets a few passive-aggressive digs in.”
Ken looked angry on my behalf, and it felt…nice. Unnecessary, and slightly uncomfortable, but nice. I didn’t want to talk about me, or Thomas, so I suggested we take an intermission.
“Do you want to grab seconds? There’s so much food.”
“No thanks,” he answered, stretching his arms to the ceiling. “I will have another glass of wine, though, if you don’t mind.”
We took our dishes into the kitchen and did a quick tidy before taking our refilled glasses back to the couch.
“As it turned out,” I remarked, “we probably could have made it to jazz after all. Sorry about the change in plans, but I’ve been so tired this week, I’m glad we stayed in.”
I made sure to sit farther over to the left so I could sit back, and he could still spread out. He placed his wine on the tabletop and asked, “Do you mind if I switch off the overhead light?”
“No, no, not at all,” I assured him. It was a good suggestion as the room was a bit too bright for watching TV. “The switch is right there.” I pointed to the fixture on the right wall.
He switched off the light, leaving only a glow from the television and a faint illumination coming from the kitchen area. It took my eyes a moment to adjust, and Ken settled himself next to me, closer than he’d been before, so I resolutely kept my back pressed against the cushions, unwilling to forfeit my space if he felt like manspreading into my territory again.
“You’ve been having trouble sleeping?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah, sometimes I do.” Since meeting King, I had, anyway.
“Can I show you a technique I use?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Sleep is very important, and when I was a resident, I needed to maximize my sleep time. I needed a way to fall asleep quickly to catch as many minutes as I possibly could.” He angled toward me, touching our knees together. “This is a breathing method called cardiac coherence. You inhale deeply for four seconds,” he drew in a large breath, ticking off the seconds on his finger. Then he began exhaling slowly, ticking off six seconds.
“The exhale extends a bit longer, for six seconds. It activates the parasympathetic nervous system, slowing your heart rate, decreasing blood pressure, and relaxing your muscles,” he explained. “Doing this for five minutes will not only help with insomnia, but stress management and anxiety. Try it.”
He sat up straighter, so I mimicked his position and inhaled at his lead. I watched as he flared his nostrils at the inhale, his chest rising with the breath. The light from the television starkly illuminated one side of his chiseled face, leaving the other in shadow. His one eye exposed to the light seemed colorless, radiant. He flashed a smile as we finished our second exhale. I couldn’t help noticing the dark couldn’t obscure the brightness of his even, white teeth. Returning his smile, and feeling very relaxed I said, “We only did it twice and I can already feel the difference.”
“There’s another one that you might like better. It works best if you lay down.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped his knees to the floor and turned to gesture for me to lay out on the sofa. I obliged.
Ken leaned over me, his features barely perceptible in shadow. “This is abdominal breathing. When you inhale, first inflate your belly, like you’re filling it up with air, then do the same with your chest. Exhale the same; first the belly, then the chest.” He grasped my right hand, which had been dangling off the sofa, and set it on my stomach. He kept his hand on mine.
“It works best if you feel the rise and fall of your abdomen. Deep breath,” he instructed, softly.
I took a deep breath and distended my belly. “Good,” he said, sliding his hand up my torso to my chest. “Now the chest.”
As I exhaled, he slid his hand slowly back down to my stomach, and whispered, “How do you feel?”
The words, combined with the almost-caress of his hand, sparked goosebumps. I swallowed hard, my Adam’s apple rippling in my throat. “G-good,” I stammered thickly.
A knock sounded, effectively—blessedly—ruining the one-sided, sensual charge that was happening, and I all but flew off the couch. I raced to the wall, flicked on the light and said, “Oh, Jesus, it’s like Grand Central Station here tonight. Hang on.”
Rising from the floor, Ken blinked against the glare of the overhead light and said with a sigh, “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”
When I opened the door, I found Ernesto waiting with a broad, happy grin. In lieu of a greeting, he called out, “Wally! Papa Ern is here to see you!”
He was holding a large package, wrapped in brown paper. I assumed it was one of his photography prints. I loved gifts, loved Ernesto, and welcomed the interruption, but I didn’t want to let him in. He’d meet Ken, make some assumptions, and my stupid face after that near-boner I just had, would betray me. I could feel a slight blush creeping already.
“Sorry, Wally’s not here. Thanks for coming by, but I’m busy right now. No time to chat.” I made a motion to shut the door.
“Why are you so rude, Steven?” he asked, holding the door open. He slid the package through the gap and said, “I have a present for you and you’re tossing me out!”
I backed away, allowing him entrance. I knew the more I protested, the bigger stink he’d make, so I gave in.
“You are acting weird,” he remarked on his way through the entrance hall. “What’s going—” He stopped short when he saw Ken. “Ooh,” he cooed, turning to give me a knowing look. “I get it now.”
Ken approached his hand extended. Ernesto switched the print to his left hand and met Ken’s shake. “You must be Wally,” Ern said sarcastically.
“No,” he replied. “I’m Ken. Wally’s a dog.” His face was slack, expressionless. In that look, I thought I detected annoyance, but couldn’t be sure.
Deciding I needed to take control of the situation, I said, “Ernesto, this is Ken, Ken this is Ernesto. Dan already came by for Wally, so you’re out of luck.”
He turned away from Ken, issued me a gleefully conspiratorial stare and mouthed Oh my God. Being newly married to a model didn’t mean Ernesto couldn’t be dazzled by Ken’s good looks. I issued him a nearly imperceptible nod which I hoped he’d interpret as, So hot, it should be criminal.
Aloud, he said breezily, “It’s fine, I really came to bring you a thank you present. Paulie and I appreciate all your help with the wedding. You were a lifesaver.”
With sincerity I replied, “No thanks are needed. I was happy to help.” Running errands, hosting the bachelor bar crawl, and helping two of my best friends celebrate their commitment and love had been an honor. And, I was always a sucker for love. But I was also a sucker for gifts, so I said, “I do love your presents, though. Gimme.” I playfully made grabby-hands at the package.
I tore the paper open to find, as I expected, a framed photograph from Ern’s trip. What I didn’t expect was the reaction it evoked. I gasped in wonder and awe.
The vivid striated waves of reds, oranges, and whites, illuminated by the desert sun and captured so close as to have no orientation with the sky or perceivable ground, didn’t look like a photograph of sandstone. It appeared abstract.
It was bright, hypnotic, and absolutely stunning.
No wonder Paulie cried. I felt near to it myself and I was only looking at it from the perspective of a camera lens.
I felt Ken sidle close to me for a look at the print. He bent his head near to mine and I felt his breath on my cheek as he said, “It’s beautiful.”
The combination of his low timbre, scent, and proximity mixed with the earlier confusing stimulation, put my dick on alert.
Mayday! Mayday!
With rapid, jerky movements, I hurried to the far wall and made a show of pondering where I’d mount it.
“So, Ernesto,” I heard Ken say. “Are you Spanish?”
I lowered the picture and whipped around in surprise. What kind of question was that to ask someone? Ernesto had an obvious accent and dark features which were indicative of a mix of native and Spanish genetics. I didn’t know why Ken would bring ethnicity up in conversation, unless he was uncomfortable with Ern. Fucking. Great.
Ken’s face still bore that vapid blankness, and for a moment, I thought I was going to have to intervene on Ernesto’s behalf, but then Ernesto replied suspiciously, “Somewhere down the line, yes. But my family has its roots in the Yucatan. Why do you ask?”
Ken seemed to realize he was bordering on giving offense and laughed in a self-deprecating way. “I’m sorry, Steven said he liked Spanish guys. I was just thinking you two had a thing.” He appeared to be apprehensive about that prospect. Maybe, again thinking I was bringing him into an uncomfortable misunderstanding.
With heartfelt relief, I laughed at his awkward fishing. Ernesto laughed as well and gave Ken a pat on the shoulder. “No, no! I am married and Steven and I are only friends. You have nothing to worry about from me.”
I inwardly laughed at Ernesto’s implication that Ken and I were involved, and I waited for Ken to catch it and deny it, but he apologized again for being rude.
Ern waved him off and said his goodbye. I walked him to the door, and when we reached the threshold, he started excitedly punching my arm.
“Ow!” I whispered, rubbing my smarting bicep.
“I want every detail. Do you hear me?” His voice was hushed, but emphatic. “Call me.”
I closed the door behind him, not bothering to disabuse him of the idea that I was about to get into Ken’s pants. I’d ‘fess up later, but for now, I was just going to let him think what he wanted.
I stood in the entryway for a moment, giving myself time to shake off the confusion of the last few minutes. I spied my neglected mail sitting on the table and noticed a small manila envelope amongst the junk. Curious, I tore it open. Within were two standard sized papers folded in half.
My stomach flipped when I saw what was printed on them. Grainy, blurry photos taken from several yards away, showed me talking with Ken at the sports bar last week. They were terrible pictures, printed on regular paper from a home printer, but I could still decipher that I was the subject.
“King,” I whispered.