The Gift (17 page)

He smiled and lay back on the bed.

Twenty-two hours. It had been twenty-two hours since August had seen Doren if he counted the night after dinner when they'd slept alone. That was almost an entire day. Hell, that
was
a day if one rounded up. He was going stir-crazy in his room. He'd read and reread Doren's contract, then reread it again twice more after that. He was, in all laymen and professional terms, an expert on it. He could probably quote it by section if he had to. He'd memorized Doren's song listing, the proposed tour dates, and the four CD titles that the label had narrowed their decisions to. And the only thing August had left to do was wallow in the fact that Doren still hadn't come for him.

Was Doren still ill? Had the headache got worse? August had debated calling on the phone but Doren was right next door; that seemed ridiculously childish. He didn't want to push himself on Doren either. That would be a desperate thing to do and he'd seen Guy fall victim to it too many times back home. "Oh, please," Guy would beg on the telephone to the most recent guy that had gotten tired of him the minute he'd yanked his dick out. "Just let me come over. I won't get in the way. I just want to see you!" And minutes later Guy would be dropping the phone and ranting about how badly men sucked and how he was going to be alone forever. There was no way in hell August was going to be that guy. But if Doren
was
sick, if he
had
got worse, there would be no way to know by just sitting around worrying. At the end of the day he was Doren's assistant, first and foremost. It was his
job
to make sure Doren was okay.

Still, it was to front door and not the adjoining one that August went. He hesitated out front of it, almost losing his nerve. "Come on, don't be an idiot," he grumbled. "It's Doren, for Christ's sake!"

August's rap on the door was met with a loud, "Come in, it's open," and he was greeted by a blast of sound when he followed the command. It reverberated through his eardrums, trying to slide its way into his brain like a snake. With a huff, August stalked over to the stereo and turned it down.

"Hey!" Doren walked out of the bathroom, wet and steamy from the shower. "Quit it." He reached past August and turned it back up.

August followed Doren to the bathroom where Doren stood in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches on a perfect shave. "Thank goodness you're all right. I was worried about you."

Doren snapped the razor against the sink and rubbed his face with a towel. "Why?"

He didn't mean to let out the breath of frustration but it came without pause. "Well, I haven't seen you in two days. I haven't heard from you at all, in fact." Doren stared blankly at August in the mirror, his only reply a roll of his eyes. "Doren," August insisted, "you said you'd come see me. I waited for you."

"Why?" Doren turned to lean against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did you want to fuck?"

August frowned, confused. "No."

Doren shrugged and lifted his hands. "Well then? What did you want?"

"I wanted to know you were okay, damn it. I told you, I was worried!"

A new song started up from the stereo, louder and more vicious that the one before it. Doren closed his eyes and rolled his head. When he opened them again they were cold, disinterested. "Don't be. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself. Thanks anyway, bro. Now, if you don't mind," he waved August away. "I'm kind of trying to get ready here."

August blinked back the emotion that seemed to be collecting in his eyes. Stop it, August, he told himself. Don't you dare let him know he's bothering you. "What are you getting ready for?"

"I'm going out."

"Where?"

Doren pushed past him and walked down the hallway, swinging open the closet. "Out."

"Out?"

"Yes, out." He pulled on his jeans.

"When will you be back?"

He pulled on a clean shirt. "Later."

"Later? What does that mean?"

Doren spun on him, closing the distance between them in a blink of an eye. He grabbed August's shoulder and growled, "Look August. I told you: I'm a big boy. I don't need a daddy or a partner or a fucking boyfriend. So stop acting like one. You are my assistant. You assist. Next time I need something typed or faxed or booked or I'm too goddamn horny to go out and hunt up some strange, I'll call you. Get it?"

His words hurt worse than a punch in the face. August's chest ached so bad it felt like he'd been shot. He could barely hold back the quiver that threatened to multiply in his lips. "Yes," he said quietly. "I get it."

Doren walked past, grabbing his wallet at the door and left him, standing alone in the room. And in a moment of uncontained frustration August sat on the couch and let the tears spill. Had he really been that stupid? Had he really let Doren do that—talk the sweet bullshit and lie the sweet lies that would worm into his heart until he caved? Had he really just let that man break his heart when he'd sworn he wouldn't allow it to happen?

A click at the door alerted August to his return. Had he come back to apologize? "Please God," August whispered, "Let him have come back to say sorry. Please God, I won't even be mad at him." August swiped at the tears on his face as Doren walked into the room and over to where he sat. Please Doren, he begged in silence. Please don't do this to me.

Doren eyed the tears August was still wiping off his face. Then walked past him and scooped the CD out of its compartment. "Sorry, forgot something."

Without another word Doren turned and walked out.

He stood at the front desk, annoyed, and waited for the attendant to arrive with the car. He clicked the keys against the counter in a steady drum, recalling the beat of the CD. Third track, second verse, he recited. The lyrics go like this ... then he noticed the desk clerk's attention on his hand.

"What's your problem?" The words came out a little rougher than Doren meant them to, but too bad, that's what the jerk got for looking at him like that.

"Nothing, sir. My apologies." The desk clerk looked back down at his paper and then up again. "Will August be joining you tonight?"

Doren shook his head, narrowing his eyes. For some reason the mention of August's name made him jumpy. "No. He won't. Not that it's any of your business."

"Of course not, sir." The clerk paused, as if dropping the subject, then continued as if he was unable to stop himself. "Great guy though, isn't he? Sweet, too. One would be very lucky to find someone so complimentary, wouldn't you say?"

Doren closed his eyes, his brow twisting into a frown. His temples were starting to pound again. "I don't know. Why don't you go ask him out yourself if he's so amazing?"

The clerk chuckled. "Oh no, not me. He's not the kind of partner for me, sir. I'm just a simple desk clerk and he, well; he's destined for greatness. Wouldn't you say?"

Doren lifted his hands to his forehead, pressing on the throbbing ache that was escalating quickly. "No. I wouldn't say. You're the one saying it so why do you keep asking me if I would? God, where do they find you people?"

"Sorry sir, of course. I'm speaking out of place again. I tend to do that. It's a bad habit of mine. And I just got a message here that your car is on the way. They had it way in the back. For safekeeping, of course." A long pause followed. "I sure am glad that August boy isn't mine, though, I'll tell you that."

Doren pretended not to hear him—tried to refuse to fall into the game of baiting conversation. The attempt failed miserably. "Okay, okay. I'll bite. Why?"

"You know, all alone up there. In this great big place, with all those vultures out there." The clerk shivered. "You never know what could happen. You know what I mean?"

Before Doren had a chance to speak the Lotus appeared, reflected in the mirror behind the clerk. Doren grabbed his keys. He used his back to open the door and spoke to the clerk as he went through. "He's a big boy. He'll be fine."

The phone rang, once, twice, three times before August finally picked it up, and August's voice was exactly as Anton had expected it to be: husky, wounded, broken.

"August," Anton purred. "Are you feeling better?"

August sniffed a "yeah" into the phone and Anton grimaced, holding it away from his face.

"That's good, I'm so glad. And how is Doren doing?"

There was a long pause and ... was that a tear the little prick was holding back? An excited rush pulsed through him. It was working. There was no point then in stalling on the rest of the plan then. "I'm so sorry to bother you so late. But I really need to see you, August. If you have a half an hour or so."

"I don't think so, sir. Maybe tomorrow."

He clucked into the receiver. "It really has to be tonight, August. It's a matter of extreme urgency concerning both you and Doren. If you care at all about his career then I'm going to need you to attend to this immediately."

"Oh? What is it?"

The give in August's tone was obvious and Anton had to slide his palm over his lips to hold back the glee and re-center before he spoke again. "Not here, August. Not over the phone. It's ... not secure. I'll come get you. Half an hour, hmm?" He didn't give August a chance to answer before he hung up the phone.

Morana came up behind him, stroking his shoulders as she circled her way around to face him. "Are you bringing him here or to the office?"

Anton smirked, looking over at the bed, now clear of the body but its sheets still entangled and unmade. "Here. Don't bother to change the sheets."

The car roared underneath him, the music banged around him, and he cruised the streets aimlessly. The Lotus steered like they were in water—fluid and easy, shifting like a dream, without effort, without fail. He pressed on the accelerator and watched the immediate rise of the needle, urging it faster, whipping around corners and screeching to stops. If his boss was going to be fool enough to let him borrow his car, then it deserved all the abuse it was going to get. He sang along to the song—sixth track, chorus line—and lurched to a start when the light turned green. The sickly thump of something in front of him stopped Doren cold and a blur of red hair tumbled past the windshield.

Oh, shit. Oh, goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Doren yanked the door open and raced to the front of the car where a small form was struggling to her feet. He grabbed her arm and spun her, certain beyond belief that he would see a bloodied and ripped face, but she was, surprisingly, unharmed. "Medea?"

She looked up, eyes as large as saucers, and opened her mouth in surprise. "Doren!"

He felt down her arms, keeping his eyes on her face. "Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?"

"No, I'm fine." She giggled, catching his hand and holding it to her chest. "That tickles!"

The music from the car thrummed in the background. Her chest felt wild under his hand: tiny, bony, almost bird-like in its fragility. "Good. I can't believe it was you. Thank God it was you. What are you doing all the way downtown?"

Medea pouted, and breathed a heavy sigh. "Everyone else was busy. They're always busy. Run, run, run and I sit and do nothing. It's soooo boring. So I thought I would go shopping and then when I got here I realized it was too late and everything was closed."

He didn't even know what her last two sentences had been. He'd stopped listening, watching her sway to the sound from the car, her eyes lit and her smile wild. "Oh, I like that. Who is it?"

Doren spread his hand, still clasped and held to her chest, and laid it flat on her breastbone. It felt like a twig under his hand, like he could snap it without resistance.

He could feel her watching him, lifted his eyes to catch and hold, her tongue darting between glossy lips like a snake's. Keeping his gaze, Medea slipped his hand to the right so it rested on her breast. They were barely breasts, nipples really, and hard under his palm. "New band," he grinned. "Maybe mine. Why don't you come in the car and listen for a while?"

"Ooh," she breathed seductively, her voice soft and high. "I'd like that. Can I?"

He took her hand and opened the car door. "I would like nothing better."

She slid past, brushing against Doren the entire way, and he helped her step into the low seat. He shut the door behind her, his body already racing, while electric guitar wailed through his head.

"Why are we here?" August eyed the massive house through the limo window and then turned to watch the iron gates close slowly behind, shutting him away from the rest of the world.

"This is where he asked me to bring you, mister."

"He didn't want me to go to the office?"

"No mister, he said the house."

August caught the inside of his cheek with his teeth, unsure as to why his heart was racing but taking it as a pretty trustworthy sign that he shouldn't be there. "Have you seen Doren arrive at all?"

"Not before I left to get you, mister. Of course, he may have arrived since. Please, let me get the door for you. I'll be around in just one second."

August shook his head. "No, it's okay. I'm a big boy. I got it."

The driver turned in his seat and smiled sadly as August stepped out. "I don't know, mister. You seem like a very small boy to me. Be careful."

He stood and watched the driver pull away, frowning, suddenly more afraid than seconds prior. Heavy trees hung close to the house, hiding it within their shadows. It was set way back from the road and miles away from the core of the city. But with the car gone, and the gates closed, August didn't have many choices at his disposal. With a sigh that sounded too much like a whine, and steps that seemed to drag, August walked up to the door. It was answered before he knocked by a small Asian woman that did not speak, motioning with her hands. She waved August into a foyer of black marble, through a parlor lined with thick, dark drapes and towards an elaborate staircase of wrought iron.

"Actually," August paused at the stairs. "I think I'll just wait down here if you don't mind."

The house-girl shook her head in an exaggerated no, waving insistently. Frowning in annoyance, August followed. He was led down yet another hall embellished with the photos of beautiful women, all in black and white, all fabulous. August recognized all three of the secretaries as he passed their photos and it gave him a shiver up his spine. What was that anyway? Some kind of disgusting trophy of the women in Anton's life? The man brought creepy to a whole new level.