The Worst Best Luck (10 page)

“Wow,” was all Peter could say when Matt finished.  “So you just…quit.  No notice, nothing.”

Matt shrugged.  “Yeah.  I mean, it wasn’t the most professional thing to do, but, you know, it wasn’t like I was doing anything that someone else couldn’t do instead.  And I just…snapped, you know?  I couldn’t go back in there for even one more day, once I knew what I was supposed to be doing with my life.”

“But…what about bills?  Rent, health insurance…everything?  What did you do about all that?”

“I moved out to Hell’s Kitchen, dropped the insurance, and I didn’t have any charge card debt, so I was able to live pretty simply.  It’s New York,” Matt laughed, “so of course rent took my whole paycheck for a long time.  But I got the place through Terry; one of his customers owns the building.  So I didn’t have to pay the usual blackmail ‘key fee’ to get in, and I got a decent rent.”

“Wow,” Peter said again, shaking his head.  “I would be terrified.  To let go of financial security like that, to start over with nothing.”

“I guess coming from money makes it different – you see…” Matt thought a minute.  “You see how little it matters.  Not that you can live without it, just that it’s not worth giving over everything else in your life for it.”

“I suppose.  But when you grow up in Section 8 housing, then money is like…”  His eyes lit up.  “This money, this huge stupid insane amount of money I just walked into, it’s like The One Ring.  Half the time I want to throw it into Mount Doom, and the other half of the time I just want to jump up and shout, ‘The Ring is mine!’”

“Dude.  Even fucking Gandalf had a hard time turning down the One Ring, remember.  So cut yourself some slack there.”

“Ha, right!  No shit, huh.”

“Just take the time you need, there’s no rush, is there?”

“There is and there isn’t…I don’t know how long I can stand going into work every day, working in an advertising agency, doing something, you know, totally meaningless and not useful to anyone, anywhere.  Not when I know I can just cash out and get out.” 

Peter looked at Matt, at his calm, warm, friendly gaze, his kind face…  It was so stunning to feel this, to feel this
acceptance,
to feel
supported. 

The black dog inside woke up, stretched, yawned. 
You don’t deserve him.  You’re going to fucking ruin his life when you cash that ticket, suck him into the crazy that will be your life.  And you can’t give it up, tear that ticket up, can you?  Because that’s the only way you can keep him.

No…
Peter tried to answer.  But some part of him knew it was true.  He was clinging to Matt like a drowning man trying to use another man as a flotation device. 
You’ll take him down with you.  You’re so fucked up.  You’ll RUIN EVERYTHING.

Peter shook himself.  “I should go.”

Matt was shocked.  “Are you sick?”  He’d had it all planned out, they were going to go from here to the little ice cream place around the corner, he was going to order the big-ass banana split, and maybe even feed Peter a spoonful, watch his gorgeous lips close around it, thinking about how they’d be wrapped around his cock later.  He’d feed him a cherry and watch Peter’s sea-green eyes meet his, those sea-green eyes dark and roiling like troubled waters, so full of hunger for love, for peace, for everything…

“No.  I just…  I just need some time, Matt.  I feel like I’m made of glass right now.  Like anything could make me shatter.”

But that’s why I want to take you home!
Matt wanted to shout. 
I can fix that, let me wrap my arms around you, feed you my strength, I can help…

He flashed back to one of his earliest days in Terry’s shop.  It was late at night, and he was embroiled in an engine from a 1990 Nissan 300ZX that was feeling like a Rubik’s Cube.  He was swearing under his breath, dropping tools as he tried to get to places he
should have
been able to get to, if the design of the damn thing hadn’t made it so hard. 

Then Terry put a hand on his shoulder. “Stop.”

Matt didn’t stop.  “No, I’ll get it, I’m...shit!”

“That’s an order.” 

Matt sighed, frustrated. 

“You know what you need to do next?”

“Yeah, I probably need to pull the damn thing and…”

“No.  What you need to do is sleep on it.  You’ve been pulling information all day, half the night.  Reading up on the Internet, asking the other guys questions, getting your hands around the engine.  Look, it’s like school.  It
is
school.  But you’re not cramming for a multiple choice test, you’re studying for an essay you have to write.  What you do with that engine is the essay that you’ll write in it.  So you need to absorb what you’ve learned.  Let your subconscious work on the problem.  Let go for a day.  If you keep going now, all you’re going to do is fuck it up.”

Peter was crammed full right now, Matt knew, and the last thing that would help would be for Matt to come in on him with
one more thing, one more demand.
  It was selfish of him, his desire for Peter.  He told himself it’s because he wanted to help him, and he did, but he
wanted him,
too, so very badly.

“Okay.  Maybe we can see a movie tomorrow?”

Peter smiled.  “Yeah.  That sounds good.”

They parted reluctantly outside the restaurant, hugging briefly before Peter tore himself away. 
He’s a good person with a good life, don’t ruin that, don’t let him ruin it by taking you into it.

Some part of Matt told him this was a terrible idea, that he should override all that good judgment and respect for boundaries and just
hold on.
  That what Peter said he needed was the exact opposite of what he was really thinking, what he was really feeling – that Matt would need to
make
Peter be loved, accept love.

But there was Terry’s invisible hand on his shoulder. 
No,
he agreed,
you can’t make that happen.  You can’t force a part into a place where it doesn’t fit, at least not until it’s been machined to fit.

But he stood there, watching Peter walk away, just in case Peter turned around, changed his mind, just in case Peter wanted to look and see if Matt was still there, waiting for him. 

And even after Peter turned the corner without looking back, Matt stood there a while longer, just in case.

Peter was exhausted. 
Why did I sign that fucking ticket
, he thought with sudden rage. 
Why did I give it to Mr. Plant for safekeeping.  I should have burned it.

No, he thought, remembering more of “The Lord of the Rings.” 
The Ring is my burden.
 
I can do so much good with it.  It’s selfish of me, so selfish, to think otherwise.  You were going to lose Matt anyway, you know that…

There was a man in a hoodie standing outside his building, leaning against the wall by the front door, smoking a cigarette with thumb and forefinger in a way Peter knew all too well.

A trap door opened inside Peter’s mind and he fell, relieved like a condemned man would be that the waiting was finally over, and he was dead at last. 

The man’s head lifted, and the light of the streetlamp illuminated his face, the face Peter already know was under there.

Cody smiled.  “Hello, lover.”

“Cody,” was all Peter could say. 

“Aren’t you going to give me a hug?”

“What do you want.” 

Cody’s smile grew wider.  He knew what this tone of voice meant in Peter. 

“I just want a hug.” Cody opened his arms, and Peter found himself automatically doing what he’d always done with Cody, giving in again.  He could feel a little of himself being sucked away as he did.

Peter flashed back to a night in the “Cody Era.”  Outside school, a fellow student had flirted with him, made him feel…attractive, special, interesting.  Then Cody had come along, glowered at the guy, and driven him away. 

“You like
that?”
  Cody snorted.  “Man, you’ll sleep with anyone if you think
that’s
hot.”

“I…” Peter wanted to protest, wanted to say,
but he’s nice, he’s kind of cute, and he likes me…
 

But Cody’s words had the desired effect, reminded him what a little rabbit he was, how desperate he was for affection, and the young man had been nice, but he had crooked teeth, didn’t he, and shiny skin, nothing like Cody, so of course he was interested in Peter Rabbit, he couldn’t do any better, could he…

Cody sulked.  “You like that better than you like me?”

“No…”

“Give me a hug.  I need a hug.”  A demand.  Cody didn’t give hugs, only took them. 

Nothing’s changed there
, Peter now thought glumly.

“See, was that so bad?” Cody said after they parted.  “So what have you been up to?”

“Working.”

“Cool, me too.  I’ve been doing really well, been doing some nightclub promoting, got some other projects going, yeah, doing really well.”

“Do you live in New York now?”

“Yeah…yeah, just moved here.”  Peter couldn’t take his eyes off Cody’s face, his amazing male-model
beauty
, and Cody’s eyes glittered as they always had when he was about to
take Peter, use him, have at him…
 

A small animal cried out inside Peter,
no, not again.
 

“So are you going to invite me up?” Cody asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Peter fumbled for an excuse.  Saying “No” was just not something he ever thought of saying to Cody until too late.  “I have a long day tomorrow…”

“Just let me talk to you for a few minutes.  We should catch up, it’s been so long.”

He could hardly believe it.  Cody acted as if their relationship had been so…normal.  As if Cody hadn’t left Peter sobbing on the floor, as if only Cody’s instinct for self-preservation had stopped him from hitting Peter.

Cody could just
wear you down.
  He’d ask for a hundred bucks, and you’d say you didn’t have it, and he’d say I really need it, and you’d say no, and he’d sulk, a black thundercloud that just sucked all the moisture out of you until finally you just
gave in
, found a way to get the money, no more fight in you…

“Okay,” he said.  Because otherwise this dance would go on and on, Cody a master at its steps, always parrying anything Peter said until he got his way.  The only way to have any energy left after these “Cody dances” was to give in early.

A self-protective fatalism kicked in as they walked up the stairs to Peter’s small studio, as Cody chattered about what a big deal he’d become in the world of nightclubbing, something something Kanye something VIP something bottle service.  Peter nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to speak, knowing Cody would talk about himself forever, more than content for Peter to only listen.

“Hey, all right,” Cody said, looking around Peter’s apartment, running a quick inventory.  “Nice place.  Cinder block and plywood bookcases, that’s cute.”  Peter flushed, the cheapness of his furnishings a sudden source of shame.

Peter went to the kitchen (really just a corner of the single room) and opened a bottle of wine.  That was part of the ritual, too, to reach for the anesthetic the minute Cody started on him.  He poured himself a glass, but this time, something rebelled.  Instead of pouring Cody a glass, as he always had, he walked away. 

“Help yourself,” he said.

Cody was surprised.  “O, kay…” he said, in a tone that said, fine, be that way, I’ll be the better man.  He took a glass, filled it, knocked the contents back, raised his eyebrows – good stuff, his face admitted.  Then he refilled it and followed Peter back into the living room.

Peter didn’t sit down, and neither did Cody.

“What do you want, Cody.”

Cody put on the face of the practiced liar – eyes wide, eyebrows up, mouth open in indignation.  “I just wanted to see you, man.”

“As you can see from my apartment, I don’t have any money.”

Something flickered in Cody’s eyes, a cruel knowing laughter that made Peter’s guts clench.  HE KNOWS, a voice said inside him. 
Impossible,
he replied. 
Nobody knows, but the people I trust.

“I don’t need your money, Peter.  I’m doing good, really good.”  He set the wine glass down, moved towards Peter, took the glass from his hand.  “I just wanted to see you,” he whispered, coming in close, the heat of him making Peter weak. 

This is what you deserve, the hands on the shoulders shoving you to the ground, the hands on your head making you choke on his cock, the words of abuse, all of it…

But one thing was different now.  Matt.  Matt had been in there, deep inside Peter’s mind, where Cody was trying to get now, Matt had taken his tool kit and made an adjustment.  The engine was still not right, but it wasn’t as wrong as it had been.  It was road-worthy, anyway.

“No,” Peter said, backing away.

This time Cody was really shocked.  “What?  Do you have a boyfriend now?”  The arched eyebrow, barely believing it possible. 

“No,” he found himself saying.  Knowing somehow that it was the right thing to do.  To hide his relationship with Matt from Cody, to keep it away from Cody’s destructive influence.  To reveal Matt’s existence to Cody would be to
go there,
to listen to Cody’s twenty questions, picking his relationship apart as he’d unravel a sweater, methodically, effectively turning it into a pile of useless yarn, brainwashing Peter into believing, knowing, that he didn’t deserve Matt…
Like you don’t already know that.

Cody threw his hands up.  “Okay.  No problem.  Too fast, that’s cool,” he said lightly, the implication as always that they would be in bed eventually, because that’s what Cody wanted.

“I need to go to sleep.  It’s late.”

“Okay, man.  I’ll call you.”

“You don’t have my number.”

“Oh,” Cody said hastily.  “Don’t you still have the same phone number?”

“Yeah.”  No use in lying about that.

At the door, it finally occurred to Peter.  “How did you know where I live?”

There it was again, that malicious glee.  “The Internet is a thing of beauty, Peter.”  Then he was gone.

Peter closed the door, picked up his wine glass with trembling fingers. 
I’ll cash the ticket,
he thought crazily. 
And I’ll buy an island, and hire an army to protect it, and Cody will never get to me again.
 

But that was crazy talk, that was the wine talking.  Cody was back, like a cancer no longer in remission.  There was nothing he could do about it.  As always, just thinking about Cody made him tired.  He just wanted to sleep, and wake up, and realize this had just been a bad, bad dream.

He wanted to pick up the phone, to call Matt, and tell him everything. 
Yeah, right!  Tell him how weak you are, how you let Cody walk all over you, how you’re still letting him.  What, so he can go…beat Cody up?
  He laughed.  That would be nice.

No,
he said to himself, pouring another huge glass of wine. 
I can handle this.  I won’t do that to Matt, I won’t put this on him, I won’t make him worry and suffer and get in trouble defending me. 

Because Peter knew that Matt would do it – Matt would be his knight in shining armor, Matt would solve it for him. 

And then what?  Then I’m nothing but a lady hanging out of a tower screeching help, help, save me from the dragon, I’m so helpless?  Who wants that?  Do you think Matt of all people wants to be with someone like that?

Somehow he’d manage.  He’d always managed, on his own.  He’d do it this time, too.

“Thanks again,” Jonas said to Matt as he shook his hand, again, holding it a little longer this time.

“My pleasure.  She’ll run like new for quite a while.”  He’d loved working on the old Merc, and Jonas had given him carte blanche on the expenses, trusting Matt not to rip him off.  And Matt had torn that mother down, pulled all the different brands of aftermarket parts that had been patched into the engine over the years, put in top of the line shit, and nearly made her a new car. 

“If there’s anything I can do for you…” Jonas purred, handing Matt his card face down to show the private number written on the back. 

“Thanks.  I’d like to take my boyfriend to a Giants game this fall, if you’ve still got those tickets.”

Jonas laughed, acknowledging defeat.  “Of course.”  Then they both laughed, knowing that what Jonas really meant was, of course you have a boyfriend.

It was happening again, Matt thought with a rueful smile, breaking for a late lunch.  He walked down the streets and pulled his ball cap down low, masking his eyes, half his face, but New York City could tell – he was FUCKING HORNY.  Lust was steaming off him, pheromones pumping into the air, and the men of New York knew it, they could sniff it out. 

Back when he’d had the office job, he’d go home on a Friday night until it was finally late enough to go out to the bars.  He’d change into pants that showed off his huge cock, and go find a willing victim’s ass to pulverize.  He’d throw them down on his bed and fuck them as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did.  Everyone was cruising him all the time back then, everyone could see he was on the prowl, always ready. 

Then he’d found his new life, and what he’d thought was insatiable lust was revealed to him as frustration, desperately seeking the only outlet available – the easiest one for a man with his looks, physique and endowment. 

And when his life changed, and he started walking the streets with a calm face, a slow stride, a sweet smile, pleasantly exhausted from a good day’s work, men’s eyes started skating over him.  They’d register his looks, acknowledge them, but then, they’d see that he wasn’t
on the hunt
, and they’d move on.

But now he was burning again, and men looked at him with the question in their eyes. 
Fuck, Peter!  I need your ass!
  He couldn’t believe how
vivid
the memory of that night was, how insanely fast he got rock hard just thinking of Peter’s legs in the air, the perfect shape of his smooth tight little buttocks, the look in his feverish eyes…

Matt was sure he was what Peter needed.  Not time, not distance, no – he needed Matt on top of him, around him, inside him. 
I wouldn’t even need to fuck him, just put it in there like
…he laughed. 
Like that could fill the hole inside him forever.

He took a window seat at his favorite sandwich joint and cracked his book, unaware how devastating the sight was to passersby, a gorgeous man in a mechanic’s uniform drinking his coffee and intently reading H. W. Brands’ FDR biography, ‘Traitor to His Class.’

“Can I join you?”

Matt looked up at the good-looking young guy, cup and plate in hand.  The place was packed, and Matt was at a table for two.  He nodded.  “Be my guest.”  Then returned back to his book, the message clear: Not Interested.

After a few minutes, the man spoke.  “Is that you?”

Matt lowered the book, took another look.  The dude was pretty, but in a sour sort of way that turned Matt off.  He had a knowing smirk, a self-assurance that looked like it was based only on his generically attractive appearance.  He looked like he was laughing at a joke only he could hear, a joke at everyone else’s expense, and Matt hated that.

“Is what me?”

“Are you a traitor to your class?”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged.  “I don’t know, you look like you went to private school, lived a good life.  Didn’t come up hard.  And now you’re…doing what you do.”

“And that makes me a traitor?”

“Well, yeah.  Why would anyone walk away from money if they didn’t have to?”

“Maybe there are more important things to do with your life than make money.”

“Sure, if you’ve already got it.”

Matt could feel it.  There was something wrong here, some game being played.  “Do I know you?”

Cody smiled.  “No.  But you will.”  And he got up and left.

Matt watched him go, troubled.  He didn’t have anything in his past that would raise a spectre like this.  This had to have something to do with Peter, maybe with the lottery money.  Maybe someone somewhere had blabbed, someone in the lawyer’s office, and this guy thought he had an angle.  Was he a reporter?  He looked crafty but not smart, so, maybe a reporter for a tabloid, the kind of job where being a no-conscience sleazeball was the most important qualification.  Someone who’d been watching him and Peter?