Knave of Broken Hearts (7 page)

“Ah, in time for lunch. So what say I line him up for a 12:30 lunch meeting at my club, and if you don’t need him, I cancel at the last minute?”

“I don’t want to take your time.” That was a lie.

“Nonsense. We have to eat. Besides, I can’t leave Shaz’s husband in the lurch.”

“That would be amazing.”
The doc should listen to my heart now.

“I’ll call him first and make sure he does what you need done. TIs, right?”

“Yes, and he may need to sign off on Title Twenty-four calcs.”

“Twenty-four. I can remember that. Want to give me your phone number so I can let you know if I strike out?”

“Uh, okay.”

“And I’ll put mine in your phone so you can tell me if I need to cancel.”

They swapped phones and started tapping keys. Tanaka’s phone was the newest Apple, all shiny and supertech. Jim wanted to hide his old model, but the doc didn’t seem to sneer at it. When they exchanged back, Tanaka smiled. “How nice to be in your phone.”

Man, did he make that sound dirty.

The doc waved the phone at Jim. “Talk to you tomorrow. Ta.” He turned and strolled out of the building like some panther heading out to hunt.

“Man.” Just being near that guy made him antsy, but that didn’t stop Jim from saying he’d have lunch with him. Oh yeah, and his architect lover who was also gay. Jesus, was everyone he knew gonna turn up gay now? But maybe, just maybe, Tanaka might save his bacon.

He walked back into the suite, locked up, and headed home, trying to keep his thoughts on how he’d change the suite layout if he had to and not on lips that could give lessons in blow jobs just by showing up.

When he stepped into his apartment, he was greeted by smells that only occurred in restaurants and in his dreams. Jim followed his nose to the stove. “What are you making?”

“Pork chops with Italian sauce a la Ian. There are some browned potatoes and spinach.”

His mouth actually watered. “Is it illegal to chain your brother to the stove?”

“Only in some states, but it may go to the Supreme Court.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ian’s claims to chef status were verified. Pork chops juicy and packed with flavor. “This is amazing.”

“Glad you like it. I’ve gotta earn my keep somehow.”

“How did your day go?”

“I got a job.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I’m a busboy at a Mexican restaurant.”

“Don’t you have to speak Spanish to hold a job like that?”

“I can manage a little since I took Spanish in high school. I think they’re pretty amused by me. I’m their token gringo.”

“Man, you don’t mess around. Can you bring food home?”

“Yep. And I signed up for community college.”

“Jesus, Ian, you make me feel like a slacker. No wonder you’re Dad’s poster boy.”

“Was. Was his poster boy.” Ian touched Jim’s arm. “You’re no slacker. Hell, man, you’ve been fending for yourself since you were sixteen. That’s not easy.”

Jim shrugged. “I chose it. They would have sent me to college if I’d just toed the line.”

“Toed their line.”

“Yeah.” He took another bite and chewed. “But don’t glamorize me, buddy. I’ve been getting by with the minimum for a lot of years. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. It’s time I grew up.”

“How was your day? The new job?”

“Pretty wild. The building owner came in and said she may be changing the tenants and I’ll have to find an architect to sign off on new plans. The guy Billy uses is gone.” He didn’t want to worry Ian with the heart thing.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve got a line on an architect that might be able to help.”
Sort of.

“I’ll be glad to look at the plans for you too. Not that I can sign them, but I apprenticed in an architectural firm after school. It was supposed to give me good brownie points for getting into Berkeley.” He made a face.

“That would be great. I don’t know this guy at all. He’s just a friend of, uh, somebody I know. So maybe you can do some of the work, and he can just approve it.”

“Sure, I’d love to do that.”

Jim grinned. “You’re pretty handy to have around.”

Ian’s eyes got shiny. “Thanks. You don’t mind that I’m gay?”

Jim leaned over and slid his arm around Ian’s neck. “Hey, you’re my brother and I love you. Besides, these days it seems like all my best friends are gay.” He gave his brother a quick squeeze. “I’ll help you clean up, and then I need to get to bed. I didn’t sleep a lot last night.”

“No, I got this. You go to bed. I’ll turn off the lights.”

“I should keep you company.”

“Anderson will do that.” The kitten lay flat on its back in the middle of the ratty couch, sound asleep.

“Such a sparkling conversationalist.”

“He has hidden depths. Seriously, get some rest.”

“Okay. I’ll take you up on it.” He walked into his bedroom and closed the door. No lie. He felt like he could sleep a week. Still. He opened the box under the bed and stared at his favorite magazine again. Every time he saw Ken Tanaka, all he could think of were these drawings. Right on the cover, there he was. The character had short ink-black hair that flopped in front of his face over wide yet still almond eyes that in this case were blue, not brown. Close enough. Of course, this face was pretty boyish. Younger than Ken, but Ken was more beautiful.

Jim traced the lips on the drawing with his forefinger, then flipped through the pages. Oh man. How many times for how many years had he stared at that beautiful ass being fucked by that big cock? He was sick. These drawings ruined his life and the life of his friend. Hadn’t he learned his fucking lessons?

Jim’s hand slipped into his own lap and squeezed his massive erection.

K
EN
BRAKED
at the light and reached out to dial the phone, then stopped. Why exactly was he doing this? Gene made him bonkers. When he drove off last night, he’d put a fitting end on his relationship with Gene. Did he really want to start up that whole irritation again for some straight construction worker he barely knew?

His hand danced over his phone. Yes, he actually did. There was a realness about Jim that weirdly appealed—not that he was into seducing straight guys. He pressed the button and spoke into the phone. “Call Gene Willings.”

One ring. Two. “Uh, is this Ken?”

He tried to keep the sigh out of his voice. “Yes, darling. How are you?”

“I’m pissed at you. You palmed me off on those two fairies and left me.”

“I called to ask you a favor.”

“I suppose it was too much to ask that you were calling to apologize, missed me desperately, and couldn’t live another minute without me.”

“Please, dear.”

“Yes, I know to whom I speak. What can I do for you, Ken?”

“I have an acquaintance who may need an architect to do some fast tenant improvement drawings and possibly some, uh, Title Twenty-four calcs, he says. I thought of you.”

Gene sighed deeply. “This is a new boyfriend, I assume?”

“Actually, no. He’s straight as a plumb line. He just happens to be a friend of a friend of mine, and a patient. Is this in your wheelhouse, darling, or have I called in the wrong favor?” Yes, that was a reminder.

“Favor? Ah, I see. A bit of reckoning, are we? Tit for tat?”

“I have very little interest in tits.”

“Ha. Ha. So if I do this, will I no longer owe you for sponsoring me at the club?”

“You can consider all debts paid. And, of course, I assume you will be paid. This isn’t pro bono.”

“You said fast?”

“My acquaintance won’t even know until tomorrow if this is happening, but if it’s on, he’ll need the drawings right away. I told him we might meet over lunch.”

“Are you buying?”

“Of course.”

“All right, count me in. How will I know if we’re going forward?”

“I’ll call you. We’ll go to the club.”

“At least I’ll get a free lunch out of it.”

“And my eternal gratitude.”

“Yes. That and a hundred dollars will buy me dinner. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Click.

Oh my, he is a pain in the ass.

Ken pulled off the 55, maneuvered the red lights on Baker, and turned into the tract where his parents lived. Their old home in Costa Mesa remained a point of contention between them, but then, points of contention formed the whole foundation of their relationship. He’d tried to move them to an upscale neighborhood. They’d refused to budge from their place with its short walk to the Asian market.

As he pulled to the curb, he saw the strange car that stood in their driveway. Shit. She’d done it again. Who was it this time? One more uncomfortable evening with his mother’s latest pick for his wife. One more set of disappointed parents when he respectfully declined to marry their dutiful daughter.

He stared at the red front door. He could just drive away. Live his life. Forget he had a family. His cheeks puffed as he let out a long stream of breath. That was going to happen when sushi flew. He was Japanese. Plus he had a special debt that could never be paid. Filial fucking piety ran in his veins. The beat of his heart said, “Yes, Mother.” To everything, that was, except her marriage plans. He’d wrung out the Japanese dictionary to find every variation on the word
douseiaisha
he could find, but whether he tried
gei
,
homo
,
barazoku
or even
okama
—
which pretty much defined him as a drag queen
—
she refused to get it.

One more fucking charade.
He shoved open the car door and got out before he could change his mind and go drown his sorrows at the club. On the porch he knocked respectfully and waited for someone to answer. So different from his white friends who would have simply pushed open the door and yelled, “Hey Mom, I’m home.”

His father did the opening. “Good evening, Kenji.”

“Good evening, Father. Who does she have lined up this time?”

His father simply shrugged.

Ken removed his shoes in the small entry. His mother’s voice carried from the next room along with a couple of male voices he didn’t know, but no other women. Probably some shy, delicate, Japanese flower just imported from the old country.

He took a deep breath and walked into the living room. His mother sat in her favorite high-backed chair—Queen of Fucking Everything—next to the stiff couch where three people were lined up. An older woman in a kimono, a small man with graying hair, and a young guy who anybody with eyes would have to call handsome. Well, at least he was wrong about the matchmaking.
Thank God.

His mother beamed like a mama lion who’d killed an antelope for her young. “Kenji, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Okuwa and their son, Mikio.”

Ken bowed. Both of the parents rose and bowed back. The son got up and stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Mickey.” He was short like his father, and compact, with nice shoulders and, from what Ken could see, a great ass. He was probably in his early twenties. Maybe his mother wanted Ken to recommend a medical school or something.

Ken smiled. “Ken. Glad to meet you.”

His mother waved to the chair that stood conspicuously vacant. He sat. She rose and offered him a tray of beef-and-scallion rolls. He grabbed a small plate from the table and took a roll. “Thank you, Mama.”

“I know you never take time to eat. You’re too skinny.”

Actually, she was right on the money. He’d skipped lunch and was starving. He took a bite and the familiar flavors of miso and sake burst in his mouth.

She turned to Mickey. “You must respect your body, don’t you agree, Mikio? Kenji works too hard keeping others healthy and doesn’t think enough of his own health.”

Mickey grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. That body doesn’t look unhealthy to me.”

Ken glanced up in time to catch the guy’s raunchy grin. A fucking flame of knowledge seared Ken’s brain. Son of a conniving bitch. Mikio Okuwa was gay. Ken’s mother had changed her game. What the hell was he going to do now?

The cook his mom had hired for the evening—definitely trying to impress—called them all to dinner. He sat at the table and tried to smile and be polite but, hell, he felt rocked—and not in a good way.
Come on. You say you want your mother to accept that you’re gay. She just did. Be happy.
But why hadn’t it crossed his mind that his mother would turn her wedding efforts to male prospects? Because they couldn’t produce grandchildren, that’s why.

His mother accepted some Kobe beef from the cook. “So, Mikio, what do you do for a living?”

The guy paused in the process of heaping food on his plate. “I’m in law school.” He took a bite and chewed, but his eyes took on a gleam. “But what I really love is music. I’m the lead singer in a rock band. We’re posting a lot on YouTube. Only a matter of time before something goes viral and we’re on our way.”

Ken’s father said, “Band? This seems like an unreliable way to make a living.”

“Yeah, but we’re prepared to starve if we have to to make it to the top. I might try for
The Voice
, you know?” He shoveled in a mouthful that seemed determined to independently stave off starvation.

“A television show does not appear to be an effective career strategy.”

“You’ve gotta take what’s available in this country, Mr. Tanaka. I’m a great marketer. We’re all over social media.”

His father frowned more deeply, and his mother leaped in. “Kenji is a cardiologist, did you know? Youngest to graduate from his medical school.”

“A broken heart guy, huh?” He grinned.

Mrs. Okuwa said softly, “You must be very proud.”

“Yes, I am.” His mother looked at his father. “We are.”

“And where is your first son?”

For an instant, everyone froze. His mother caught her breath, his father quit moving, and his own fingers tightened on the tea cup.

Mickey looked up from his enjoyment of the beef. “You got a brother, man?”