The Mating of Michael (12 page)

Wow.

Michael cleared his throat. “So tell me more about
Troubadour Turncoat.
You said you were sick with pneumonia when you wrote it?”

James sighed, but when he spoke, his voice was deep and steady. “I was living in a care facility at the time. I was sick for about a year and couldn’t leave my room. The woman who ran the place, Felicia, she’d sit with me for an hour every morning, and I’d tell her the story I was making up in my head. She’s the one who convinced me to start writing it down. She helped me edit it and find an agent, too.”

Michael wanted to ask where James’s mother had been at the time, but he refrained. “Felicia sounds like a remarkable person.”

“She is.”

Michael felt the warmth of James’s hand in his and wished he never had to let go. Like a total dweeb, he fucking
treasured
the feel of it. James’s hand was much larger than Michael’s. Where Michael was slightly built, James had a tall, rangy, almost Lincoln-esque quality to his body—lean but with broad shoulders, big head, big hands, big feet… yeah, the thought did nothing to calm Michael’s libido. The flashes of vulnerability he saw in James were an interesting contradiction to his inherent strength—because James was strong. In fact, something about his toughness made Michael feel… safe. James felt
dependable
, like he’d been through hell and lived and if shit came down, he knew how to deal.

All Michael had to do was figure out how to get under that shell so that he could be safe in there with James instead of being shut out. Holding hands was a good place to start.

M
ICHAEL
CAREFULLY
stroked flaming red paint onto the nail of Marnie’s index finger and considered it critically. “Good color,” he decided.

“Red lips and red nails, cock your hip, it never fails.” Marnie winked.

Michael laughed. “I’ve never heard that one.”

“That’s because I made it up—long ago. But it’s true.”

“Not sure it would work for me, but I hear ya.”

He took her middle finger and applied the brush again.

They were on Marnie’s couch. She was wearing a scarlet red V-necked sweater today with black leggings, and she’d insisted on getting her nails done to match. Michael didn’t mind. It was an easy enough way to pass the time with her, and it made her feel good about herself.

“So did you ever go after that writer fellow?”

“I did,” Michael said, smiling.

“Oh, ho! That’s a cat that ate the canary look. Tell Marnie all about it.”

“Well… it’s not what you think. He said he wasn’t gay—well, what he said was ‘what makes you think I’m gay?’
He is
,” Michael leaned in and whispered the last to Marnie confidently. “But he’s scared of getting hurt, so he said he just wants to be friends. That’s fine.”

“Doesn’t sound fine to me,” Marnie pouted.

Michael paused and blew on her wet fingernails. “Actually, it’s kind of nice. I have a slight tendency to rush into sex.”

Marnie blinked at him for a moment, then cackled outrageously. Michael rolled his eyes and waited for her laughter to subside.

“Oh, Michael, you are a cutup!” Marnie chortled.

“Hey now. I’m not
that
easy. Of course, with my surrogacy clients, it’s all about sex. What I’m trying to say is, it’s nice to just be friends with a man for a change. We have fun.”

Marnie made a face. “Tell me you don’t play cards. Or maybe throw horseshoes when your arthritis isn’t acting up?”

Michael laughed. “Nope, no cards or horseshoes. I took him to Mt. Rainier for a picnic, we’ve been to the movies once, and I’ve been to his house once for pizza and TV. The first four episodes of
Babylon 5
. It was a marathon.”

Marnie made a “pfft!” sound. “You’re far too young and nubile to waste a day staring at the boob tube when you could be schtupping your brains out. The man needs some tender loving care.”

“We’ll get there.” Michael smiled sadly. “At least I hope so. James has… trust issues. And self-image issues.”

“Oh? Sounds like one of your surrogacy clients,” Marnie said, looking at Michael shrewdly.

Michael frowned. “No, it’s not like that at all. James is brilliant, and strong, and very proud. He’s just… with the polio, I don’t think he’s trusted anyone enough to be intimate, or at least, not many people. He needs time to get to know me. Something happened in his past… I’m not sure what it is, but it really screwed with his head.”

“Hmm. Have you told him that you’re a sex surrogate?”

Michael felt a stab of fear. “No. I’m done with this hand.”

He got up and rearranged the pillows so he could sit on the other side of Marnie. He started painting her left index finger.

“You should tell him about the surrogacy,” Marnie insisted, never one to be deterred. “It might make him more comfortable about being with you in a sexual way.”

Michael gave a bitter chuckle. “It really wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Michael frowned and blew on her nail. “God, I told you how he reacted when he found out I was a nurse. I’m afraid that if I tell him about the surrogacy, he’s going to see it as some sort of personal insult. You know like….” Michael hated to say it. His mouth twisted. “I dunno. Some people think I have a handicap fetish or something.”

“Who thinks so?” Marnie said, perking right up.

Michael shrugged. “My friend, Sammie, for one. He’s always trying to drag me out clubbing. He’s really into looks, and he doesn’t understand what I do at all. He thinks it’s gotta be a kink.”

Marnie pursed her lips. “Well…. Don’t take this the wrong way, but
don’t
you have a fetish like that?”

“No!” Michael was indignant. “God, no.”

“It’s okay, you know. Kinky is as kinky does. I have a few embarrassing secrets locked away in my old bag of tricks.” She chuckled with a salacious glint in her eye.

“Oh? Do tell?”

“Never you mind. We’re talking about
your
fetishes, thank you very much. Mine are old and permanently retired, and there’s no one to give a flying fig. You, on the other hand, have your young gentleman to think about. And watch that polish. You’re getting sloppy.”

Michael sighed. “Sorry. Well, no matter what anyone thinks, I don’t have a fetish for stumps or scars or anything like that.”

Marnie waited, batting her eyes at him expectantly.

“I just… I really, really like to be needed. Sexually, I mean. By someone who otherwise hasn’t had a lot of sex or couldn’t or….”

“Ah, it’s more of a virgin thing,” Marnie said knowingly.

Michael shrugged. “Maybe a little. It’s amazing to be someone’s first time. But it’s more than that. It’s about being special. I’m someone who can bring lonely people pleasure, when most other people wouldn’t or couldn’t. I make them feel better, give them a few minutes of joy, of forgetting their troubles, of feeling alive, feeling touchable, feeling wanted. Just knowing how much they need and want me…. That really makes me… hot.” He could feel his cheeks getting warm and knew he was blushing. This wasn’t something he talked about, and it was hard to put into words. “I dunno. Some good-looking guy at a gay bar—I’m just another hole to him. It’s not about
me
. But when someone really needs
me
,
and I’m the only one who can give them pleasure… that’s sexy as hell.”

Marnie was watching him shrewdly. She looked like a crow eyeing a shiny object in the grass. “Someone hurt you pretty bad when you were young, didn’t they, sweet boy?”

Michael felt the ghost of a mostly forgotten pain, but he shook his head. “The usual childhood bullies. No more than any other offbeat kid.”

“Uh-huh. You can’t fool me. The kind of compassion you have is like a diamond—won under tremendous pressure. Well, whatever fire forged you, you
are
special. You’re a jewel.”

Michael smiled and gave her a quick hug, careful not to get polish on her. “Thank you, Marnie. You’re sweet.”

“So you’re afraid if you tell James about your surrogacy work, he’ll think you like him because you’ve got a handicap fetish?”

Michael nodded miserably. “He’s very proud. He doesn’t want to be thought of as a handicapped man. And I
don’t
think of him like that. But even if he didn’t dump me for that reason, he’d probably decide he didn’t want a relationship just because I’m a surrogate. I’ve never met a guy who could handle it. It’s probably for the best that we’re just friends.”

But though Michael could
say
that, he couldn’t
feel
it.

Marnie wasn’t fooled. “Oh, honey!” She grabbed at his hand with her right and squeezed it, nail polish brush and all.

“You’re going to get nail polish on those pretty leggings,” Michael warned her.

“Pfft! I don’t care.”

“And you’ll mess up your manicure.”

That she did care about, because she let go. “You’re too hard on yourself, Michael. Let me tell you about true love.” She snuggled a little closer. “When it’s true love, you just can’t give each other up, no matter how mad you get at the other person. Don’t you know that?”

Michael shook his head.

“I was really in love with a boy named David when I was in my early twenties. He had this ex-girlfriend who was always hounding him. And he was such a nice guy, he wouldn’t just tell her to get lost, no matter how much he and I fought about it.”

“One time after a big fight, I snuck away while he was at work, and I took a train home to visit my folks. I left him a note. I was determined that was it, a clean break. I was never going to see him again.”

“Well, by the time I got to my parent’s house, I felt like I was dying. For four days, I ignored his calls all the while bleeding inside. Until I finally realized—I couldn’t do it. I’d left plenty of boys and gotten myself over it, but I couldn’t leave David. It wasn’t a choice, I just… couldn’t.”

Michael smiled. “I’m not sure I’ve ever felt like that. I know no one’s ever felt like that about me.”

“Well, if Mr. Writer is
the one
, then he will understand about the surrogacy. And if he doesn’t, and you can both walk away, then it wasn’t meant to be.”

It did make Michael feel a little better. He liked James so much. The depth of what he felt was almost surreal. He wanted to be the one to give James a full life, inspire his dreams and his writing. And that was maybe a foolish, unrealistic fantasy, but he thought it was not an entirely selfish one.

He just needed time to win James’s trust and his heart. “When we know each other better, I’ll tell him. Once it’s not so fragile.”

Marnie didn’t look convinced, but she patted his hand. “Oh, my dear, you know I wish you all the love in the world.”

O
N
THE
first day of April, James got an e-mail from SFFA with the subject line “Millennial Awards.” Holding his breath, James opened it.

Congratulations. Troubadour Turncoat has been nominated for this year’s SFFA Millennial Award.

James whooped and did a happy dance with his fists.
Oh, thank God. Thank you, God
.

He scanned the rest of the e-mail eagerly.
Oh.
With a knot in his stomach, he called Amanda.

“That’s fabulous, James! Congratulations!”

“Yes, but….”

“But what?” Amanda sounded leery. “If you tell me you’re less than thrilled, I’m going to smack you, then I’m going to take away your crayons.”

“I am thrilled,” James said mechanically.

“Good.”

“There’s just one small wrinkle—they sent me a form for seating at the banquet.”

“Yes. And?”

James could feel his gut twisting. “And… I don’t actually have to go to that, right?”

“James,” Amanda said with a tone of conjuring up great forbearance. “I thought you understood—that was the whole point of that book signing we did. Not only do you need to go, you need to send that form back in as soon as possible, making it clear that yes, you will attend. With bells on.”

“But people accept awards all the time in absentia. We could record a little thank you speech and—”

“Let me explain this to you very clearly.” Amanda’s tone was all business. “This is not the Academy Awards and you are not Brad Pitt. They televise this little award show, and whether it’s fair or not, it makes for bad TV if the award winner is not there. If you don’t say you’re going, I can guarantee you your chances of winning will fall from one in five to cold day in hell.”

James shut his eyes, gripping his cell phone so hard his fingers hurt.
Fuck.

“What’s the big deal anyway? You already revealed yourself at that book signing.”

Yes, but that book signing wasn’t televised. And it didn’t have me sitting there with every big author and publisher in this business, sitting where they could all stare at me and whisper. Did you see J.C. Guise? He’s a worthless cripple.

“James!” Amanda said.

“Yes. I’m here,” he croaked.

“Promise me you’ll fill out that form and return it today.” There was a stern warning in Amanda’s voice.

“Absolutely,” James lied.

“We need this award.”

“Yup, we do.” James hung up.

He opened the e-mail and looked at the attached pdf form. “Will you be attending the award ceremony? Will you be bringing a guest? Name of guest? Chicken, fish, or vegetarian entree?”

Humiliation, scorn, or ridicule?

James closed the blank form, all the excitement about being nominated replaced with a terrible bleakness.

E
XCERPT
FROM
Sentimental Cyanide
by J.C. Guise

When the box opened, Lamb was in a penthouse decorated entirely in white with a wall of glass that looked out over a huge city.

“Stand up and take off your clothes.”

The man who gave the order was approximately fifty years old. He had a very hard face, and he didn’t look in Lamb’s eyes. Lamb obeyed, and the man examined him everywhere with his eyes and fingers.