Better Friends and Lovers: Interludes

Twenty-Two Deja Vu

**********************
 

“Danny, can you help me with this?”

“Hang on a sec, be right there.”

I watched as Danny made a few adjustments to something on the sound board before vaulting over the short dividing wall that separated the recording equipment from the performers. Hunter was lucky that Danny had been able to find the time in his schedule to produce his first album for him. Not only had he helped him put together an experienced back-up band, he was personally handling all of the arranging and recording. Which, for a perfectionist like O’Keefe, meant going over every note in every track until he was satisfied that it couldn’t be made better. At times he even grabbed a guitar or bass and played what he wanted until the younger musician got it right. I noticed that he never did that to Hunter, but then, there never was a need. Hunter was just as intense and focused about his music as O’Keefe. The kid was really going places, and once the songs from this album started getting some play, and he hit the touring circuit, he was, as Danny once predicted, finally going to be a “stah.”

I sat on the low wall and folded my arms, settling back to watch the two of them, pitch black hair falling close to the dirty blond head, as Danny leaned over Hunter to point something out on the sheet music. Most of the others listened closely as Danny explained exactly what he wanted, the cocky bass player being the one exception. He leaned against his amp and slurped at an icee. Danny really was worth a listen. Just as he used to be able to envision a dance number in his head and convey each part to the individual dancers, keeping his image of the finished whole in his head, he was just as gifted in arranging a piece of music, seemingly in his head, bringing all the disparate parts together smoothly. I could understand, somewhat, how the choreography worked. After all, I’d been a trained dancer before leaving dance for the law, but that was it. I could dance well. My singing was sufficient to get me into a chorus line, which was pretty much why I decided to leave the arts and go to law school when after two years I still wasn’t getting leading parts at the Joffrey, and I wasn’t really more than chorus material on Broadway.

Danny, however, was leading man material any way you cut it, plus smart enough to call the shots behind the scenes. In any field. Damn annoying, really, I thought, ruefully. Not that I wasn’t happy working as an entertainment lawyer with his older brother, John. But Danny. He was recording and producing albums, writing music, choreographing and directing dance numbers for two major dance companies, not to mention coming up with numbers for a couple of artists to use on tour, and in his spare time, he acted in movies. All before hitting thirty, which he was about to do this week. One could only hope he would finally slow down and give the rest of us a chance to catch up.

It would be easy to look at all those accomplishments and resent Danny O’Keefe. There certainly have been times when I did. But the truth was, he’s had a rougher time of it than pretty much any one I know. Except maybe Hunter. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of the friendship those two shared. If ever there were polar opposites, it would seem to be those two. Beloved youngest child of religious, middle-class Irish American family with a large, loving brood of children. And a child of the streets, sent out to turn tricks at the age of twelve by his hooker, alcoholic mother, who’d done time for trying to kill his father. As a result of his time as a kid hustler, Hunter was HIV positive by the time he was sixteen. If he hadn’t been adopted by two gay men who got him off the streets and made sure he got the proper medical care, he probably wouldn’t have lived to see twenty-one, much less the type of success he was heading toward today.

Kinney, Danny’s partner, called them the Beauty and the Brat. Hunter said that was because he was afraid to call him a beast in front of Danny and face his wrath. But actually, Hunter, for all that he’d had his awkward years as a teen, as most of us did, Kinney and O’Keefe being exceptions to that rule I suspect, was actually growing into a confident style that was all his own. He would never be handsome, but he had a presence and witty type of intelligence that made him very attractive. Especially now that he didn’t feel quite so insecure about himself. I wondered if he would gain enough confidence to act on his own attraction toward me or if I would have to make the first move. I’d been waiting for him to grow up but now that he was, I wondered if I’d waited too long, and someone else would come along and make him see just how much he had to offer–while I waited for him to see what was right in front of him.

I started at a sudden noise.

“Hey, Brandon, stop posing over there and tell us how this sounds.” Danny whistled loudly to get my attention. I’d been so lost in my thoughts I must not have heard him calling. I straightened up as the group giggled at my expense. Kids, I thought, restraining the impulse to roll my eyes.

“I’m paying attention. Get started some time today is all I ask,” I drawled.

“That’s what all of us would like,” the tall good-looking bass player grumbled as he got off the amp he was sitting on and put his drink on the floor. Hunter flushed but Danny simply straightened up and gave the guy a cool stare that would’ve done Kinney proud.

“You have a problem, Nayden? I couldn’t quite hear you over the slurping sound of that icee you were still nursing, that I believe I told you to get rid of half an hour ago. No drinks in the recording area near the electrical wires and amps.”

“Oh, sorry, princess, I’ll be sure to dispose of my drink in the proper receptacle! Anything else? Perhaps fisting or rim job? Oh my goodness me, no, I forgot, you’re not the Dark Angel anymore, you’ve turned into the Vanilla Angel in your old age. Whatever was I thinking?”

Hunter stood up angrily, ready to take on the far larger, brawnier bass player who was built somewhat like Ben but had a much edgier look to him. Like a Ben with Kinney’s attitude. And tattoos. And piercings. Come to think of it, I guess he didn’t resemble Ben all that much. Maybe they shared the same neck size. Extra thick. The other band members all looked at Danny to see how he would take this clear insubordination. I was relieved that the first thing he did was place a calming hand on Hunter’s shoulder. The last thing I wanted to see was his teeth knocked out since it took two years for his dental work to be completed giving him straight teeth finally. But Danny’s gesture and look clearly told the kid to let him handle it, and Hunter pretty much always did what Danny said. Right now he was sitting back down and folding his arms, a big smirk on his face. He had full confidence in his hero handling this guy, which told the rest of the band where they should be placing their bets in case they had any doubts.

Danny gave the guy the once over. Slowly.

“I haven’t a clue what you were thinking, quite frankly, that you even can think comes as a bit of a surprise to me. But, based on your comments, I take it you do have a problem, and it’s supposedly with me. Here I just thought you were having a problem with the music....princess. There are easier ways to back out of a gig, you know, if you can’t hack it, than by insulting the producer.”

“My playing is beyond question...ask anyone.” Nayden flushed and took a threatening step forward. I wondered whether the asshole could be high or at least drunk. Maybe that “icee” he’d been sipping at all morning had more than colored water in it. Danny didn’t budge...of course...despite the fact that the other guy had a good four inches and at least eighty pounds on him. At a conservative estimate. If I hadn’t had plenty of opportunities to see Danny kick the asses of far larger men in his sparring, I would be dialing security by now. But, as a good attorney, I neither wanted to annoy my client, nor drag outside security staff into the matter if I didn’t have to do so. We didn’t want the bad press that such a step would inevitably engender. I really wished Danny would allow Lane to gift him with the services of that big physical therapist Eli as a bodyguard and not just for those times when his leg was acting up. Eli had a way of just whisking troublemakers out of sight.

Danny was practically inciting this guy to violence now, by mocking him with his sharp tongue and refusal to be intimidated by the guy’s size or his pathetic putdowns. If there was one area Danny would never be insecure about, it would have to be his sex appeal. Eventually Nayden was going to take a swing since his kind never backed down. Too stupid to know when to quit. Hunter was shooting me worried looks but what did he expect me to do? I wasn’t the type to throw myself between a friend and danger. Especially not when the friend was deliberately inciting the danger, like waving a red cape in front of a bull. Personally, I would have told the guy to leave as soon as he mouthed off, and called security if he didn’t do it quickly enough. But, if I were to intervene on Danny’s macho trip, I’d just piss him off. So, in response to Hunter’s pleading look, I merely shrugged, and showed him that I had my cell phone ready. If things got really out of hand, I’d go ahead and call security and Danny’s ego be damned.

The two men were continued shooting verbal jabs at each other. At least Danny maneuvered the big guy away from Hunter and the other musicians. He was nothing if not a chivalrous idiot.

After yet another pointless jab by Nayden about his sexual practices, Danny laughed and told him, “Well, fun as it is to listen to your whining about my perceived shortcomings as a lover, something you will never have the chance to find out about, it’s your bass playing that’s in question, actually, not my sexual habits, dark, vanilla, or polka-dot as they may be, since we’re recording songs here and not a porn video. I can see now that perhaps you were mistaken and that’s why you came all dressed up like a reject from Ozfest, as opposed to ready to actually play that bass.”

The others snickered; I restrained myself, as I generally prefer not to mock large angry men. Especially if they may be drunk or high. Sometimes Danny O’Keefe had the self preservation skills of a puppy. A puppy let loose in a lion’s den. I blamed his older brothers, who no doubt protected him whenever he taunted bigger guys, including his other brothers. He probably always knew he could then run to them, monster sized men, every one of them, to avoid retaliation. It’s no wonder he can be such a brat sometimes. The wonder was that he was as likeable as he was. Nayden was practically blowing steam out his ears at this point. He loomed over Danny and jabbed his finger in the smaller man’s chest.

“My playing is fine. Who ever heard of a band like this using sheet music for fuck’s sake...and having to follow you like a bloody conductor? Is this a band or the fucking Philharmonic? We’re all musicians...are we gonna fucking play or not? You hired us because we’re the best, let us do our jobs.”

Danny moved the jabbing hand away; you could see the flicker of surprise in Nayden’s eyes when he was unable to maintain the position of his hand against the strength of Danny’s arm. Danny’s long fingers had clasped around the bigger, beefier hand, and using just his hand, forcing the larger arm away and down to the other man’s side before releasing it. He spoke softly, keeping eye contact with the taller man as he did so.

“I hired each of you because I was told all of you were professionals who could play music and knew music and as far as the others, they all can and do. But I’ll be damned if I would call you a musician, much less a competent bass player. Your old bands must have carried you is all I can say. I don’t know if anyone here wants that burden but I see no reason for the others to make up for your lack.”

“Maybe you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about when it comes to bass playing, and your reputation in music is just as overblown as your reputation in the clubs, old man. If it weren’t for you being Lane’s old fuck toy...” He’d moved his big muscled arms across his chest once Danny released the one that he moved. He’d dropped his instrument, which had been in his other hand, against the amp next to him as he started to sneer about Danny’s connection to Stephen Lane, but he didn’t get to finish his sentence as, fast as a whip, Danny’s arm snapped out and grabbed the other man’s bass and arced it over their heads, making Nayden flinch away as Danny brought it down in front of him. Basses are pretty heavy but Danny swung that thing around as though it were as light as a baseball bat. His arms weren’t as thick as the other man’s but what muscles he has are far more cut, I noticed. Danny clipped his next words.

“You know what? You’ve ruined the mood here and in case you’ve not figured it out, you’re fired. But just to make it clear that the firing is justified, I’ll show you just how outmatched you are, princess. I could beat you in any context you care to name, musical or sexual, but since I don’t especially like being in backrooms with gorillas like you, I’ll beat you playing bass, which is this old man’s fifth instrument of choice.”

Accepting his bass from Danny’s outstretched hand, Nayden growled, “You’re on.”

I settled back against the wall, wondering if there were any spectators when the devil went down to Georgia and had his famous fiddle duel.
 

**********************

“You are so full of shit, O’Keefe, fifth instrument of choice? I’ll grant you piano and guitar come ahead of bass, but pray tell, what are numbers three and four?”

Danny laughed from his position on top of the large amp. The drummer had gone out and returned with pizza and beer...and icees... for everyone to celebrate Danny’s slaying of the “evil bassist” as they put it. Apparently Nayden hadn’t won any points with his attitude.

I cocked an eyebrow at O’Keefe. “Well, are you now going to confess to a hidden talent on the...flute?”

Hunter snickered while Danny tried to look innocent. Seeing him laughing and joking with the younger musicians, it struck me how ridiculous it was to think of him as an “old man.” Not that I was above taunting him about his approaching birthday, far from it. But he didn’t look a day older than when I first met him, over two years ago, and even then, he looked closer to twenty-one than his late twenties. I was only twenty-six, but I felt eons older than these free spirited musicians, now that I’d left my artist days behind me. Danny kept one foot in this world, and the other in the more prosaic world of advertising and parenting, yet he never seemed to lose his balance. I didn’t resent him anymore but I did envy him.

“I don’t think Danny’s talent with the flesh flute really counts,” Hunter commented with a grin, causing a fresh outbreak of laughter. I rolled my eyes. Gay or straight, give guys a few beers and everything is funny.

“Oh relax, fair-minded lawyer, and isn’t that an oxymoron? Anyway, I was telling the truth, Brandon. Kind of.” Danny gave me another grin. “The voice counts as an instrument, at least in college where I majored in music, it did, and that was my principle instrument, piano and guitar were second and third, and organ was fourth, so there, I did not tell a lie to the evil bass player, bass guitar was my fifth instrument. Clarinet is my sixth, as it so happens, not flute. But I am excellent at all instruments that require blowing.” He leered mockingly at me.

“I bet...but I thought we were staying away from certain areas of performance?” I raised my eyebrow inquisitively, then leaned forward and whispered up at Danny, still perched on the amp. “It’s okay, old man, I won’t challenge you to a test of prowess in that other area in front of the children.”

He laughed delightedly. “Then it’ll be the first time you haven’t, Keane. Such a concession calls for...another slice of pizza!” He hopped down from the amp, still looking at me as I gave him a smile in response to his infectious laughter. It was the damn abandoned icee cup from Nayden that caused him to slip backward and fall, cracking his head against the amp on the way down. The cup must have fallen apart, those things eventually do, and there was spilled liquid all over the floor near the area where the bass player had been standing before his argument with Danny.

Hunter and I rushed to Danny, worry flaring when he didn’t get up immediately.

“Danny...Danny,” Hunter moved as though to pick Danny up by the shoulders but I stopped him.

“Don’t move him...he’s unconscious and he may have broken or sprained something. One of you,” I looked over my shoulders to the frozen band members, “call 911. Just say that someone fell and struck his head, get an ambulance here fast.”

Hunter looked at me anxiously. “Brandon, with all the concussions he’s had, you don’t think...he’s not...he’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”

I swallowed my own nervousness and worry and put my usual scorn in my voice. “Of course he is. This is just typical O’Keefe melodrama. He’s the most accident prone person I know. It’s a wonder Kinney lets him out. I’d better call John, okay? You keep trying to wake him. But don’t move him for Christ’s sake!” I waited to see if Hunter looked like he was going to follow my orders then got up and took a few steps away before dialing my boss. Fuck, I hated making this call.

Once I was sure that I heard the drummer calling for the ambulance properly I hit send on my own call. We were in a studio in New York and there were no O’Keefes nearby; none who could help anyway. Just some of the college kid contingent. Miguel worked in the Manhattan branch office, he might be a help, but for now I needed to reach John. He could reach Kinney; that was a call you couldn’t pay me enough to make. For all that I had tried to reassure Hunter, Danny’s still white face was scaring the shit out of me. I sure as hell didn’t want to try to explain his condition to Kinney.
 

**********************

I looked up at the ring of faces above me and tried to sit up. Hands held me down.

“Mr. O’Keefe, please, just relax, and tell us, how are you feeling? You took quite a bump to the head. Do you remember anything about it?”

I blinked and the room came into better focus. A woman in a paramedics uniform. A blond guy, good looking, in a suit. Another blond, leaning against him, kind of plain, but interesting. Some more paramedics. Some more people...instruments. I was playing bass, I could remember now. Lights too damn bright. I sighed and closed my eyes.

“I jumped off the amp, not too smart. The asshole left his drink there. Really not smart. I hate when people leave drinks near the equipment.”

Someone snorted. “Well, he’s back to normal.” Relieved laughter. Wish they’d be quieter.

“We need to check you out at the hospital, buddy, okay? You were out for awhile.” Male voice. Too tired to check him out. Someone started shifting me; I flinched and they stopped..

I hated hospitals. I shook my head, which hurt, but wasn’t excruciating. I tried a smile.

“I’m really fine. Let me sit up and I’m sure nothing will fall off.” More laughter. Maybe I should become a comedian. I should be sure to mention that to...what’s his name...Vince, that’s it, my agent. If the whole singing and acting thing doesn’t work out, I’ll turn to yet another career in entertainment, stand-up comic, that’s me. In the Catskills. Assuming they still have comics in the Catskills, like in the movie, the one with Jennifer Grey and Patrick Swayze. Dirty Dancing, that’s it. And assuming I can manage this standing up without falling thing. I tried peeking beneath my lashes. Still just the woman paramedic. Where was the guy with the nice voice? There he was. Nice, what I could see from flat on my back, that is. I tried smiling faintly and he gave me a winning smile back, but the “she” paramedic frowned.

“I really would prefer for you to let us take you to the hospital just to be on the safe side. Loss of consciousness is nothing to play around with.” Says her, I thought but decided it wasn’t the moment to interrupt. She wasn’t the type for levity. I bet she had it tattooed on her ass. No levity. She looked at her clipboard. She already had notes?

“Your friends tell me you had surgery just the other year... are you feeling confused right now? Do you know who is president?”

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. Did they have to share that with the EMT's? Looking at Hunter and Brandon’s concerned faces, who said I couldn’t remember names, it was just a momentary thing, I thought, pleased with myself, and really, they were overly concerned faces if you asked me, especially Brandon, did he get paid extra to act human? I started to get annoyed. When did every little bump and skinned knee with me start turning into an episode of a soap opera? I banged my head after I slipped on some spilled ice for fuck’s sake and blacked out for a few minutes. It wasn’t like a crazed stalker held me tied to a bed at gunpoint.

Been there, done that. Knew I should have gotten some fucking t-shirts printed up.

My temper flared even more, not that I let it show. I knew I probably would regret doing this but at the moment, I didn’t care. I looked at the emergency workers with my dimples on full wattage and my lashes practically fluttering at the cute one, while I thought of my revenge. Hunter looked suspicious then but everyone else was busy staring, God only knows why. I couldn’t have looked my best sitting in a puddle on the floor.

I glanced down at myself quickly. Ahh, shirt open, tight pants, legs spread–I’m more of a slut than I realize sometimes. Must come naturally. More of the band must be gay than I thought. And that male EMT definitely is, although so is the woman, I would surmise, from her businesslike demeanor and total lack of prurient interest. Ah well, can’t win them all. I toned my “charm” back a bit–I didn’t care if she fell for my little act but my plan wouldn’t work unless I suckered Hunter. Clearly Brandon was buying it, the idiot. I bet he’d alerted John already, Danny is really hurt, poor baby. What was his job, to give hourly reports on me? Did he collect urine samples when I wasn’t looking? This was worse than when I was in school.

I made my voice as sweet as honey. Young, innocent, honey.

“Thank you so much for your concern. Let’s see, neuro check. George Bush is president now, unfortunately. George Washington was the first president, and by all accounts, a better one. At least he reportedly could not tell a lie. What else? It’s a Tuesday. My name is Danny O’Keefe. I’m an actor and musician and dancer, among other things, but to the best of my knowledge, I have never believed myself to be Santa Claus.” Smile again. “I am not consenting to go to the hospital, so unless you are committing me, you had to come out here for nothing, which I am sorry for, although I do appreciate it, as I may have needed a hospital, I guess, had I not come to, or whatever my friends were thinking. I guess you’ll need an insurance card or something for the bill? For your services in coming out here and all?” I looked at Brandon helplessly, as though I were worried about the bill. A little appreciative glimmer at his slim build, which really did look good in his Armani suit was thrown in for good measure...and to confuse him. It worked. He looked at me with a mixture of perplexity and concern.

“That’s all taken care of, Danny. I’ll deal with it; I’m sure it falls within my job description for the day, and if it doesn’t, Lane will have someone here who handles things like that for the studio. But I’m sure John, and Jamie too, for that matter, would prefer that you get checked out.”

I forced my expression to stay pleasant but boyishly obstinate. A subtle mix, I thought with some amusement. Hanging around John’s boys made it a familiar sight. It really was a very different look than say Briana’s girlishly stubborn face. My head really did hurt like hell but it felt nothing like a concussion. I was an expert on them by this point. As soon as I got back to my place and took some aspirin I would be fine. My plan was taking form as I stared at him. And as my head cleared, quite frankly. Thinking of being treated as though I were Jared and Josh’s age, as opposed to the “old man” I’d been taunted as being, made me want to teach them all a lesson. Perhaps like I had when I was twenty-two and took off with Etienne, I thought. Holding back the reminiscent smile that thoughts of my first long sojourn in France brought, I kept my face blank as I started writing a script in my head.

Thinking of Brandon only as another “hot blond” employed by my annoying older brother, I spoke casually.

“Would you please call Etienne for me, blondie? Does that fall within your job duties?”

Hunter looked at me in chagrined surprise while Brandon was out and out annoyed, and a bit embarrassed, I think, to be addressed that way in front of the others. Well, it served him right to treat me as though I needed a keeper.

“Certainly, Mr. O’Keefe. Is there anything else I can get for you? That blow to your head certainly seems to have affected you rather strongly.”

I debated asking him to suck me off, speaking of blows to heads, since he was acting like such an uptight twat, but for Hunter’s sake, I refrained. Besides, it really would be a pretty pathetic pun, even given the excuse of a head injury. I did give him a long lingering look to make it clear I was considering it, however, just to annoy him. This by-play served to distract Hunter from his suspicions as to whether I was faking my personality change. He seemed torn between amusement and horror while Brandon didn’t seem to know whether to be pissed or panicked. Instead I kept it to simply asking him to ask Etienne to come give me a ride to “our” apartment. Brandon looked really confused by that but didn’t question it. I wondered what he was going to say to Etienne. When he paused, I raised my eyebrow.

“Is there a problem? I’ll call him myself if you really don’t want to help. I just thought you wanted to make yourself useful, blondie, rather than just standing there being ornamental.”

Poor Brandon. He flushed and turned away without a word to escort the paramedics out.

As the paramedics left, carrying their equipment away, the musicians crowded around, exclaiming over my fall.

“Damn that fucker Nayden, he’d be thrilled to know he hurt you after all, even if it was because of his littering.” The guitar player was bouncing up and down on his heels; the little guy had more energy than six of me. Which was saying a lot. He was great to play with, as I recalled.

“You were amazing. Are you going to be up for playing the rest of the afternoon? Maybe you should rest some more?” The keyboard player, what was his name again? I found my head feeling fuzzy again.

“Yeah, it’s a fucking shame you got hurt, Danny, after playing bass so great.” The drummer, who had so many tattoos he looked like he had a sleeves on his tank top. I tried to recall his name too and it stayed just beyond reach.

I smiled back at him as I stood up gingerly. I looked at the music on the stand closest to me. I picked it up and stared at it for a few minutes; it really wouldn’t be that hard to sight read a bass line for this song. I’d played a lot of bass in high school. Not so much in college, but some. For a moment, I couldn’t remember why the fuck they were expecting me to play bass. I gave Hunter a questioning look, as though to ask, ‘Was that what I’d been playing?’ He gave me a subtle nod but didn’t say anything out loud. I told the others we would play at least another song before calling it a day, but kept my voice slightly tentative. I hadn’t planned on getting much more done today after Nayden left, as I’d wanted to think about replacing him. I had no intentions of playing bass on the entire album as it would be better to find someone to record with them who would be able to tour with the group as well. My bass skills were fine but I had no intentions of joining a rock and roll band. Plus, this was Hunter’s show, and I don’t play back-up well.

I rubbed the back of my head and felt the lump. Hunter was by my side with a towel.

“Ice,” he said quietly, handing it to me. “The paramedic said you should put it on your head. It’ll help keep the swelling down. I think we should call it quits for today. Brandon called Etienne for you. He said he’ll come by right away. He’s finishing up a meeting but should be able to get here in an hour. Or we can drop you off at your apartment if you want.”

“No...why don’t we try to practice a little more?” I took the ice and held it to the back of my head. It did feel good there. “Thanks....” I paused. I made a big show as though I didn’t know his name which of course I did remember. He caught the pause. Clever boy, Hunter.

“It’s Hunter. Please...don’t call me blondie. I think I’d puke.” I grinned. Of course. That was always his favorite nickname for Justin Taylor, no wonder Brandon took offense. I’d forgotten that but it was perfect.

He gave me a searching look. “Tell me the truth, Danny, are you having trouble remembering or not?”

“Of course I remember,” I told him the truth, giving him the same big smile. It wasn’t my fault if I did it in a manner that was calculated to make him still doubt, right? Maybe it was. Seeing the genuine concern in Hunter’s blue eyes, I wavered. He wasn’t the one I was mad at.

“Okay, I admit, I just have a few blanks on things, Hunter.” I gave his name a heavy emphasis and rolled my eyes. Which actually wasn’t a great idea as it made my head hurt more. But it made him smile slightly. “I’ll play this song with you guys and then go home with Etienne to rest, okay? I promise I’ll make nice to Brandon next time I see him, okay? It’s just that he ticked me off, talking about my head injury the other year and bringing John and Jamie into this, like I’m ten. Christ, I’m having a birthday this week, how old will I have to get before my big brothers are consulted about every bump and scrape?”

That made the kid grin and throw his arm around me. “Oh, something tells me even thirty won’t be old enough.”

Seeing Brandon standing in the doorway, back from his appointed rounds of escorting EMT workers, calling Etienne, and no doubt reporting in to John and complaining about me, I just couldn’t resist. The devil made me do it. Turning back to the playing area, I tossed aside the ice pack and laughed over my shoulder at him as I said, “Thirty? I can’t imagine reaching that age and still having my big brothers called every time I bump my head. I’m just hoping that turning twenty-two this week will finally be enough to get them to treat me as an adult. Otherwise, I think I’ll have to run away for good.”

I smiled charmingly at Brandon, who looked dumbfounded.

“You know, I think I’d better go get cleaned up. I’m going to hit the men’s room. Be right back.”
With that, I left the room before any of them could say anything. I suspected that if I waited around here, I’d either be carted off to a doctor’s office or kept cooling my heels until one of my older brothers showed up. And the worst of it was, they would never believe that I was joking They would insist on a full battery of neurological tests on the basis that I thought I was turning twenty-two. Being facetious was not a good idea in the O’Keefe family.

Which reminded me, I’d better call Brian and let him in on the scam so they didn’t freak him out. Glancing at my watch, I realized that he was probably already en route to California for a client meeting. No need to bother him. I’d tell him all about it when he made his usual nightly call to me this evening. He was one person I could count on understanding.

I probably should have asked someone for some headache pills before I left, as I really did wallop my head on that fucking amp. Stupid bass player.
 

**********************

When I reached ground level, Etienne’s limo was just pulling up to the curb. I glared at him as I waved his driver back into his seat and pulled the back door open for myself.

“I’m in a bad mood, my head hurts, and I need some clean pants. How did you get here so quickly?” I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss after growling at him. I really should be nicer to Etienne. I took him for granted far too much. His cologne smelled good, and suddenly the familiarity of his large warm frame in the cool of the dark interior of the car felt incredibly inviting. I leaned back in for another kiss, resting my upper body against his.

“Daniel,” he murmured as soon as the kiss ended, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me closer. “I am here for you, mon enfant. Did you already hear the sad news from Aida? I canceled my meetings and rushed to you as soon as she told me, as I thought she wanted me to tell you in person.”

His big hands were behind my head as I pulled back to look up at him, his craggy face so well known to me yet this expression not one I could place. I knew Etienne happy, aroused, guilty, excited, ashamed, calculating; there were a whole pantheon of emotions, real and pretend, but this one was alien to his attractively homely features. I reached up my hand to stroke his cheek.

“You’re scaring me a little bit, Eti, when you look real like this. I told you my head hurts, I do hope you aren’t playing games with me.”

He shook his head and pulled me against his chest. “I was already coming over to see you when I got a call that you wanted me to come over, Daniel. I am afraid your bad day is...I am not saying this well...I am sorry...but Judith...she is...she is gone, Daniel. Nikolai called late last night and left a message for Aida.”

Judith. It took me a moment to process the words. Judith was gone? She had been gone from my life a long time, returning always to Nikolai, a Russian dancer, the one constant in her life, although there had been many younger men, both before and after me. Etienne must mean....

With the realization came a flash of pain, more pain than I would have thought.

I suddenly recalled that we were still parked outside the recording studio. I didn’t want to be here.

“Have the driver take us somewhere, Eti...I don’t care where, just drive.” What happened to Judith? And how could Nikolai just leave Aida a message? I wondered if she were okay. I closed my eyes and pictured Judith as I first knew her, tall, slender, graceful, auburn hair framing her classical features. I’d been thrilled by her attention. She took me under her wing and with her tutelage I went from being an athletic, strong dancer to being an artistic, graceful one, capable of competing against the finest that Europe could offer. I loved her for showing me the true beauty of the dance.

She did the same when it came to making love. I was the one who made the mistake of thinking the two were any different. She loved to dance, and she loved making love, and she loved me as a partner in both, but that did not translate into loving me. At eighteen, one sees that as a tragic flaw in either one’s self or the other person. In time, I simply saw that as Judith’s way. Nikolai, who was older than her, much to my surprise when I finally met him, had been her lover for years, long before my affair with her, and now, it seems, was with her at the end.

“How did she die?” I finally asked, after riding with him in silence for several minutes. This was the Etienne I loved. Not the celebrity who was always “on” but the friend who knew when to be quiet and to just be a quiet supportive presence when you needed it. It seemed so long since I’d seen that side of him, I’d forgotten he’d ever existed. I pressed closer, sending him a grateful smile. His arm tightened around me. He switched to French in responding. I closed my eyes as I listened. Too much to drink, driving too fast. Some students from her school may have been in the car too, possibly Nikolai’s children. My God, no wonder the man just left a garbled message. He lost his children in the crash?

“I am not sure if his children died or not...he is understandably distraught and Aida didn’t have all of the details...there is to be a very private ceremony, family only, her father as a stepfather was not welcome even, so of course, we would not be permitted I was made to understand.” Etienne’s voice was tense. He was very close to Aida, he probably felt terrible not being permitted to go to the funeral, but in fact, Aida and Judith were never very close. Aida’s father was probably more upset than she was at the exclusion. I tried to explain this to Etienne.

He looked down at me, resting against his shoulder. “I am sure you are right. She is strong, our Aida, and the most redoubtable Nikolai is no doubt even now composing himself. I am sure he has rearranged the schedule at his school to make up for a missing teacher. And I may have it wrong. It may not have been his children who were in the car, it may have been a student teacher or something like that.”

“Well, that would be more like Judith...oh my God, I can’t believe she’s dead.” It just seemed overwhelming suddenly, thinking a little while ago of myself at twenty-two, and to think of the number of them from then who no longer were alive before I even reached thirty. I felt light-headed and pulled my feet up, careless of Etienne’s leather seats as I wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my head on knees.

“So many gone, Eti, Matt’s wife Julie, and then Luke and Angel, Dad, then Mama, and then George, now Judith. That isn’t even counting the little ones, the babies that die before they get a chance, or the ones who died years ago, I’m talking just in the past couple of years. People I loved, isn’t that more than my share?” I was practically hyperventilating in my efforts not to cry. I needed Brian but he was on a fucking plane to California. I turned toward the man next to me. It was so much easier to pretend that time hadn’t passed, that I wasn’t turning thirty and none of those people were gone.

I kept my eyes closed as I felt Etienne’s lips press against my hair, then my eyes. He was tentative. My being submissive was not the way it worked between us. With a sigh, I reached up and pulled his head closer, my fingers twisting in his hair. My mouth found his and forced it open, my tongue pressing in demandingly. He moaned as I tugged harder on his hair to pull his body over mine as I stretched out on the long limo seat.

“Suck me off,” I murmured into his mouth, as I thrust my hips against his, feeling his hardness. Somehow he managed to squeeze his tall body into the floor between the seats in order to make room to pull my jeans off, which he did hurriedly. No doubt worried I would change my mind. I wasn’t thinking though, the whole purpose of this was to keep from thinking. Otherwise I would be freaking out over riding down a street in Manhattan in broad daylight with my former lover, half naked, while he performed fellatio on me.

Good thing limos have shaded windows.

“Daniel,” he moaned around my cock, his head bobbing as he deep throated its length like a pro. I didn’t remember him being this good. Fuck, he could take it all in and tongue it like a champ. Must be those Hollywood faggots teaching him new tricks. Who would have thought a Frenchman could learn new tricks in Hollywood? I grabbed his hair again and forced myself even deeper down his throat, knowing it would only excite him more. His lashes fluttered and he hummed his approval, moving his hands along my thighs to cup my balls.

It was as his fingers grazed my hole that the same old tension came back that always plagued me with Eti. Only in the old days, when he wanted to fuck me, I could distract him by fucking him senseless. I didn’t want to fuck him senseless, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him fuck me. I probably shouldn’t be letting him blow me, I realized, even in my “no thinking” condition. Damn, I must have hit my head harder than I thought. I wish I wasn’t still aroused as fuck, but I was. I reached down and grabbed Etienne’s hand...hard, and twisted it away from my ass, pulling it behind him along with the other, turning our bodies around. The semblance of bondage was just as pleasing to him as any finger play would have been, more so, and I braced my legs on the other seat in order to maintain my hold on his arms, pinning him between my legs, him kneeling on the floor of the limo, my cock bobbing up at him.

Now if it weren’t for the whole issue of this not being a good idea in principle, I would say I handled the whole thing quite well. I closed my eyes again and decided I was too far gone to hold back now. There comes a point when a man has a warm, wet mouth moving skillfully and tightly...tightly being a good thing...around his cock and no one in the world should really expect him to take the moral high ground. I really don’t think Brian Kinney would.

It was about two seconds...no, make it one second after I came when that reasoning felt like bullshit. Plus I had a rock hard Etienne in the limo with me. Fucking bullshit on toast.

I put my hand over my eyes and leaned back against the cushion. After a long pause, I felt my jeans being pulled up. Not all that sure why I wasn’t being jumped, but appreciative of the thoughtfulness since I really didn’t care for sitting on leather bare-assed now that the moment was over, I levered my hips so Etienne could slide the now only slightly damp from ice jeans over my ass, and then lowered back down as the zipper was raised and the snap was fastened.

I peeked out, once again grateful for the long lashes that come from the O’Keefe side, and saw that Etienne was looking at me somberly. From the seat opposite. A part of me was relieved he was sitting over there and I wasn’t having to fight him off. A bigger part of me was missing his comfort and body heat.

I was having a fucked up day.

“I think I owe you an apology, mon enfant.” Etienne’s tone was mournful. No one does mournful better than he does. He looks like a basset hound when he does it. A basset hound with a French accent. As familiar and well practiced an Etienne emotion as it was, it was not quite the reaction I was expecting on this occasion.

“Why? If anything, I’m the one who just acted like....” I paused. How did I act? Like a selfish jerk? Not really. Somewhat rough? The worst things I did were things that Etienne likes, hell, he gets off on it, and the things I didn’t do I never did and never would, at least not with him, so my only fault would have been in making him think I would do them, if I did do that, which I am not sure I did...fuck, I don’t even make sense in my own thoughts. I ran my hand through my hair, glad I didn’t try articulating that. I looked at him, no doubt my internal confusion showing on my face as his own expression softened even more.

“Danny, I wanted to comfort you and I was happy you turned to me for comfort. I should have been able to do that much without letting it turn sexual, as much as I’ve wanted more from you ever since you came back into my life. To take advantage of you when you were hurting...that was far worse than anything I ever did in the past. And I’ve done some pretty terrible things to you.”

I frowned. Etienne thought he took advantage of me? I just made him give me a blow-job, held his hands behind his back and forced my cock down his throat–consensual, of course, but still–and he has the nerve to get off his knees and say he took advantage of me?

“This is fucking ridiculous! What does it take to be treated as an adult in this world? You did not take advantage of me! You blew me. I came. End of story. I didn’t even reciprocate!”

The driver glanced at me in the rear view mirror. I hoped he didn't work for OK magazine. Though it would fit this day if he had a camera hidden in the limo somewhere. Damn. Oh well, I was bound to look better than Etienne. And his lawyers would quash any photos that he didn’t look good in.

I was out of the car before Etienne could finishing explaining. And apologizing.

I leaned my head back in the car for a moment.

“If you want me to forget about this and not stay angry, you will instruct your driver to get the hell out of my sight in the next thirty seconds and not let me hear from you for the next month. Oh, and do me one more favor...call that ass Brandon and tell him it was all a joke. I know damn right well who I am and how old I am. Oh, and thanks for...you know. Tell Aida I’ll call her. Now leave me alone to cool off. ”

No doubt still laboring under the belief that he’d taken terrible advantage of me in my moment of grief, and not knowing New York City all that well, Etienne did exactly that. Now if I’d only waited long enough to figure out where the fuck we were before storming off, I might not have chosen the edge of Queens for a fucking queen-out. With a dead cell phone. Fuck. Of course, when I went into a store to buy a new one, I realized I didn’t have my wallet on me. Double fuck.

Happy birthday to me.

 

**********************
 

“What the fuck do you mean Danny has lost his memory and is wandering around New York City thinking he’s twenty-two?”

I glared at John O’Keefe who continued to make himself at home in my office, fixing himself a cup of coffee, as though he hadn’t just made an outrageous statement. If it were any one of his other brothers, and that included my lover, I’d think it were one of their stupid practical jokes. But John wasn’t given to joking. Damn it. Thank God my trip to California was rescheduled at the last minute, otherwise I wouldn’t even be available for this latest crisis in the life of Danny O’Keefe.

Why couldn’t Danny have normal accidents?

“What happened and why are we just sitting here?” I started pacing, wishing for the ten thousandth time that I hadn’t quit smoking. Danny would owe me for this. He made me quit smoking for his sake but it was for his sake that I fucking needed to smoke more than ever.

“I already booked us flights. Cynthia is making arrangements to get packed bags with essentials brought to us and a cab is on the way so we’re sitting here waiting for that to be accomplished. This way I can explain the situation to you here so you can carry on and yell and I won’t be embarrassed by it.” John sipped his coffee and waited for my next outburst.

It was difficult to have a decent temper tantrum at John O’Keefe. He was too good at cutting the ground out from under you by anticipating exactly what you were likely to say and do in any given situation. Fucking irritating, I thought, looking at him ruefully. Of course, when he was the one having the temper tantrum, look out. He was like Mt. Vesuvius. He didn’t erupt all that often, but when he did, it was of historic proportions. Danny was somewhat like him, which is one of the reasons the two of them didn’t always get along so well. My temper was different. Constant small flare-ups prevented the big blow-ups that plagued those two.

Seeing that I wasn’t going to waste any more time with useless questions, he continued. “It seems that Danny was running a rehearsal slash recording session in the Village for Hunter’s debut album. There was some kind of altercation with the bass player, which got a little nasty, but nothing that Danny couldn’t handle, according to Brandon....”

I interrupted. “Why was Brandon there?”

“I had Brandon there simply to oversee what was going on, as a rep for our office, since we handled all of the negotiations. It’s a way to make sure everything is running smoothly....” John looked slightly self conscious.

“You had Brandon baby-sitting Danny?” I couldn’t believe it.

He waved his hand impatiently. “I had him there to trouble-shoot, in case there were problems with the musicians, or with any of the studio people....”

“Weren’t they using a studio Lane’s production company leases? Lane’s people would lie down on the ground and let Danny walk on them if he asked. Admit it, you had Brandon watching over your baby brother. Although what the hell you thought Brandon could do in the event of trouble that Danny couldn’t do for himself....”

“Exactly what he was supposed to do, to be a cooler head and call for security if someone threatened violence. Which was about to happen, but as it turned out, Danny was able to defuse the situation and the incident ended with a musical challenge of all things.”

I stared at John until he held up his coffee cup in defeat. “Alright, I’ll concede that Danny probably didn’t need anyone else there, much less Brandon who is far less experienced than he is when it comes to the music industry. But, my purpose was two-fold, I also wanted Brandon to see how the process works. He’s learning to be an entertainment lawyer and I thought it would do him good to...listen, this is all beside the point. Suffice it to say, Danny didn’t get hurt in the argument or fight or whatever it was with the musician. He did get hurt in a freak accident. He slipped on some spilled beverage and cracked his head against an amplifier, and was out for several minutes.”

This news was a worry. Danny hadn’t had any more head injuries since he had emergency surgery to remove some skull fragments almost two years ago. Before that, however, he’d had multiple serious concussions and he’d been warned before the accident that led to the surgery that a repeat could have serious repercussions. I wasn’t sure if he was still at risk or not. Either way, I went back to pacing. Where was Cynthia with those bags?

“That isn’t good. So what hospital is he in?”

“That’s the problem. Remember, I told you, he isn’t in a hospital. He took offense at Brandon calling an ambulance and one minute was fine, the next he was heading out the door."

“And they think he has amnesia and they just let him go?” What the fuck was wrong with them was my thought. Wait until I got my hands on Hunter and Brandon.

“Brandon thought he was fine, just needed to be checked out as a precaution. But Danny refused treatment, Brandon had no authority to make him go, you know that as well as anyone. He called my office to let me know what happened, which apparently set Danny off more than anything.”

I nodded; having Brandon go over his head like that was bound to annoy him. “Why didn’t they call me?” There was a knock at the door. Finally. I yelled enter.

“Boss, the car is here. I sent your bags down.” Cynthia’s concerned face poked around the corner.

“We’ll continue this on the way to the airport,” I told John as we headed for the elevator. “Let’s just focus on getting there and fixing this mess.”

John gave me a look that showed that his patience was running out. “Fine, but keep in mind, no one knew you were still in town. I know you’re worried about Danny but save your nasty comments and attitude for someone else. One second I’m the bad guy for keeping too close of tabs on my little brother, the next you’re ready to cuss me out for not keeping close enough watch over him. Try accepting that we do the best we can for a trouble magnet like Danny who happens to hate being helped.”

I took a deep breath then let it out slowly. A Ben trick. It took a few more times before I was calm enough to be civil, by which time we were on our way to the airport. John stayed quiet, although from the slight twitch of his lips I was pretty sure he knew what I was doing. I’d caught him doing the same thing more than once when dealing with his siblings. Zen Ben was an invaluable aid in teaching anger management. I wondered if Danny had been taking lessons also.

Danny. The worry flared anew. He knew New York like the back of his hand. What had Brandon meant when he told John Danny thought he was twenty-two? Did he remember being himself at twenty-two? In which case, Danny at twenty-two was extremely familiar with New York City; it was his home. Or was he a blank slate of anonymous twenty-two, which would be a far different thing? How the hell did amnesia work? And what did this mean as far as his neurological condition? Was it temporary? Maybe he was already okay. Although sometimes you read about people who never regained their memories. Or lost the ability to form new memories.

If Danny had lost the past eight years, he would have lost our time together, and he would think he was still with Lane. Fuck. But then, he also would think Simon was still out there.

I needed to get up there as soon as possible.
 

**********************
 

Brandon met us at the airport. Looking as hangdog as I’d ever seen him look.

“Well, Bertram, being a lawyer obviously suits you. You look downright constipated,” I drawled. “Now where the fuck is your charge?” If I was in a bad mood before, dealing with airport security, having to take off my belt and shoes and then run through the airport in my stocking feet to catch a flight, all while holding onto those same shoes and belt, not to mention the overnight bag Cynthia found for me, just to have the other passengers gripe as John and I pushed past them trying to find our seats, did nothing to improve it. Probably the only to improve it was seeing the young blond looking like he’d spent a day in hell and now was waiting for the devil himself. It was an odd feeling not to be viewed as the devil, but in fact, Brandon’s worried look was focused directly on the black haired man next to me. John’s voice was pitched very soft, which Danny and Emmett had assured me was always a danger sign that Mt. Vesuvius was about to blow.

“Have you spoken to Lane about Danny’s whereabouts?”

“Yes, and there’s good news there. Danny doesn’t have amnesia.” Hmm. Brandon didn’t look very cheerful for someone reporting good news. I glanced at John. He obviously had reached the same conclusion and didn’t have much more patience left.

“Would you please tell us the relevant information concisely and without making us pull it out of you, and let me say that I am not impressed by today’s events, Keane, or your part in them. Are you saying that Danny had amnesia but no longer does, or that he never had amnesia? Or something else altogether? And can we discuss this in a vehicle that is transporting us to a hotel, or even better, to a location where Danny is–I am sure it’s too much to hope that he’s in a hospital having his head examined but is he perhaps at his apartment resting?”

Not bad. I was pretty good at reaming subordinates a new asshole but John had his own classier way of doing it that was fairly effective. Brandon had the look of someone who’d just bottomed without lube.

Good. My turn.

“Where the fuck is Danny right now, Berman? If he knew you’d called the calvary in, he’d be here to either yell about it, or to greet us. If he were in the hospital, you’d have gotten word to us to meet you there and not waste time meeting us here, if you had half a brain, which seems to be about the amount you’re using. So, where is the non-amnesiac Danny at the moment? He left the studio several hours ago, giving the impression that he thought he was twenty-two, and since then, you have received word from the ever reliable Stephen Lane that he is not in fact suffering from amnesia...is this based on Dr. Lane’s diagnosis? Or....”

“Danny was playing a trick on me, okay? A fucking stupid trick and I would think instead of being annoyed with me, you’d spare some of this for him,” Brandon snapped. “He was mad because I called John and Jamie.” Seeing our looks of surprise, Brandon shrugged. “Yeah, I double-checked with Jamie since I couldn’t reach Daphne. But I wanted to be sure that he should be checked out since he was so insistent about not seeing a doctor. Jamie agreed with me, very strongly in fact, so I went ahead with calling you, John. Well, he hit the roof. But he was acting weird also. One minute all flirtatious, the next confused. Hunter was thrown also. He wasn’t sure all of it was an act.”

We hit the outside. Damn it was hot in New York in August. Fortunately, Brandon had a car ready. John went to the driver’s seat automatically. I let him. I didn’t want to try driving and concentrating. I grabbed a bottle of water and focused on the rest of this story as Brandon filled us in on the details.

John was frowning. “What makes the two of you so sure Danny is not suffering from some type of memory lapse? It sounds to me like he was. The last comment might have been bravado but the rest of it, the trouble with the musicians' names, calling you blondie, even his resistance to being checked out sounds rather out of character to me. It is Danny, but Danny more unrestrained, not the Danny of today.”

“You don’t think he really was suffering from amnesia, do you? But then why have Lane call them and tell them it was all a joke?”

“Well, there was a little more to it than that.” Brandon shot me a look. “Hunter questioned Lane at length when he came over to the studio. It seems he was with Danny for a bit longer than we thought, since he’d already been on his way over when I called him, so when Danny left, he was already downstairs. We’d wondered why Hunter didn’t find any sign of Danny when he went downstairs looking for him, but we thought maybe he was waiting in a nearby café they knew of or something. Seems that old...what would you call her...girlfriend doesn’t seem quite appropriate...the prima ballerina, the older woman Danny had been with when he was a kid, Aida’s half sister? She died in a car accident yesterday. Lane was on his way to break the news to Danny. Things got rather...intense between them.”

I narrowed my eyes at Brandon. “How exactly do you mean ‘intense’?”

“Ask Hunter. All I know is he was upset at how he left things with Danny, didn’t feel he handled things well.” Brandon was avoiding looking at me, which wasn’t like him. Brandon was nothing if not brazen. This was the man who was able to look me in the eye without flinching when I had him stark naked in my bed waiting to take it up the ass to pay off a bet he lost. There was something he wasn’t telling me and it wasn’t because he didn’t know.

“What did Lane do to Danny?” I growled. John was quiet; this was my territory now. “Spill it, Brandon.”

From the corner of my eye I could see John eyeing his protégé in the rear view mirror.

“I don’t think this is a time to be holding back information, Brandon, not if Danny is still missing and Lane was the last one to see him. Especially if he gave him information that upset him. Danny hasn’t seen Judith for years but what they had together was pretty strong while it lasted. There was a while there, I actually thought....”

“You thought Danny would maybe marry her?” I filled in the rest of his sentence. Brandon looked shocked at the thought but John nodded, stealing a glance over at me. I twisted my mouth into a semblance of a smile. “You would have been right. This doesn’t leave this car, understand?” I waited for them both to nod, before continuing, “Danny asked her to marry him when he was seventeen...there was a good reason. At least in his mind. She turned him down. Broke his heart and a part of him never seemed to heal from that. He just pushed it away. Like he does most hurts. He moved on. But I’m sure news of her death would have hit him hard. He loved her a great deal once and the fact that she hurt him badly wouldn’t take away the pain of her death. If anything, it would make him feel bad for never forgiving her. So did he argue with Lane over her? I think once Aida and he wanted him to talk to her about working at her dance school or something, move to Paris, I forget what their scheme was.”

“No, it wasn’t anything like that. More on the order of his giving him comfort. And it getting out of hand, so to speak.”

I raised an eyebrow. John braked suddenly, causing all of us to jerk forward.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Wasn’t paying attention. Brandon, where the fuck am I heading?”

“Go to Miguel’s apartment. He offered you both rooms, or would make reservations for you, whichever you end up needing. Either way, you can park the car in the lot across the street.”

John nodded, glad to have a firm destination now that he was close to the Village. Meanwhile, I was happy for the change in subject. I really didn’t need to have Lane’s actions with Danny spelled out. I knew how Danny reacted to grief. Denial. And sex. Like he needed to affirm he was alive, but he tended to beat up on his partner a bit, as well as himself. I didn’t envy Lane, although in any other circumstance I would be angry at him, I was sure in this instance, Danny had no doubt manipulated him, using Lane’s affection for him against him. Poor sucker.

But that didn’t mean Danny was necessarily okay, just because he was following his old patterns. He acted in a similar way the night his mother was buried, and he was really fucked up that night. He disappeared for a while then, but at least he wasn’t suffering from a head injury and wasn’t in a city the size of New York. On a whim, I pulled out my cell phone.

John glanced over and saw what I was doing.

“Christ, why didn’t I think of that?” His face looked hopeful. “Even if he won’t answer any of our calls, he’s sure to answer yours. He probably still thinks you’re in the air, on your way to the West Coast. He’d never book on you this way.”

I hoped he wouldn’t. The call went directly into voice mail, however, which meant that he either had the phone off or his battery was dead. Either way, it wasn’t a good sign. I reported as much to the other two.

“All we can do is go to Miguel’s and decide on a plan of action. I don’t like the idea of him wandering around the city alone with a head injury, and upset to boot,” John announced. I countermanded his decision.

“Drop me off at Danny’s place,” I told him. “I’ll check there, see if it looks like he’s been by and make a few calls around. We can always meet up later and hit some of his favorite clubs.” At the reappearance of his frown, I added, “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep you posted. No sense in duplicating our efforts. Look, I’ll even synchronize watches with you, but I’ll be damned if I march around the city in lock step with you and your team of baby lawyers looking for my lover, maybe running around the city hitting every gay club he knows, looking for sex to drown his woes when he has a perfectly willing partner right here.”

“And he knows a lot of clubs,” Brandon saw fit to interject. I shot him a glare that should have melted him to the back seat. John doubled it via the mirror.

“I have not forgotten your asinine behavior in this, Keane. You should have called security the minute that clown took one step toward Danny. And you should have followed him down those stairs, and....”

“And then what? Held him back from getting into Lane’s limo? Be reasonable, John. Much as it pains me to defend Barney here, he didn’t do anything wrong, because, in truth, he wasn’t baby-sitting a minor, he was over-seeing a rehearsal of professionals, all adults, and Danny had every right to leave. I wish he hadn’t, but he did. If Brandon had stopped him, Danny could have sued him for, oh, I don’t know, wrongful imprisonment or something.”

They both looked at me in surprise, whether because I used Brandon’s correct name or the correct legal term, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. John was at the block where Danny’s New York apartment was.

“This is my stop. Call me if you get news, I’ll do the same.” I jumped out, glad to be on my own and with the quiet to think.

Where would Danny go when upset and off balance?

Either a church or a bar would be my guess.
 

**********************
 

“Thanks, Father.” The young priest waved cheerfully as he drove off in the mini-van.

I glanced down at my “new” jeans. They were a clean, but faded pair of Wranglers. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a pair of Wrangler jeans. When I was ten? But, they were better than my own filthy pair of icee stained, torn designer jeans that I’d been happy to exchange for the pair from the rummage shop Father Dean’s church, St. Ignatius, ran in its basement. Fifty cents for a pair of used Wranglers and a quarter for a clean t-shirt, which was the real steal, as it was a vintage Cream concert shirt from the 60's. If only they’d had Levi’s in my size. It seemed like sacrilege to wear that shirt with wranglers, but I was definitely a beggar and couldn’t be a chooser since my wallet must have fallen out in Etienne’s limo. That’s what I get for taking my pants off in moving vehicles, I thought with a grin. Of course, I didn’t tell the nice priest that when he found me sitting in the cool of his Church, pondering my plight, and took me into his basement shop. At first I wasn’t sure why he thought I needed “new” clothes, but then I realized that I was looking pretty damn bedraggled. Between falling on my ass in a puddle of sugar water at the studio, and being laid flat on the less than clean floor, then romping in the back of Eti’s limo, and walking a couple miles in the August heat along hot pavement in Queen’s–I was not looking my best. I was a couple steps removed from my worst, which was probably me now, come to think of it.

At least I had some loose bills on me, the change from my morning purchase at Starbucks, so I could pay for my new finery. And the good Father gave me a lift back to Manhattan, although it was clear that he was loathe to do so, warning me gently about the ills of the city life for a good boy like me. He had a bit of an Irish accent to him and I was tempted to ask him where he was from, but that would likely keep me in Queens through the evening. It was already getting toward late afternoon.

I wondered if the kind young Father Dean, who looked like he was only about five or so years older than me, although really out of shape, had any personal knowledge of the sins he was warning me against? He had glanced surreptitiously at my ass when I tried washing up in the small bathroom before changing into fresh pair of jeans, and I’d walked around the empty shop shirtless as I’d perused the t-shirts. It was harmless fun, giving him a peepshow. Had he been hotter would I have tried to see just how true to his vows he was? Brian had told me of Fr. Tom from the parish back home. Such hypocrisy pissed me off. Brian just shrugged it off. I didn’t want to know if this priest, Fr. Dean, was another gay hypocrite, willing to have sex with another man as long as the church protected him from censoring eyes, while that same church condemned the rest of us to eternal hellfire. I’d rather think he was innocent of such duplicity. Maybe he found me attractive, but like a straight priest, denied himself any action even if it were available. In that case, if he thought he were gay, and he thought it was evil to be gay, he was more to be pitied than anyone else, I thought. And his kindness to me, and his clear worry over my safety...my physical safety as opposed to my spiritual safety, was sweet. I waved back and resolved to send a check to him after I got home to cover the cost of a new van–the one he was driving was a wreck.

With a smile, I thought I would simply have it be from the Dark Angel...Brian would find that amusing.

Thanks to Fr. Dean’s generosity, I was close enough to the Dolce and Gabbana store to walk. My head was still aching but I’d also been able to get some aspirin finally, as well as a tuna fish sandwich, so I was feeling less foggy. I groaned to myself as I saw the line at the door. I’d forgotten all about this–open audition day. The hot new designer, Odo, had this bug up his ass about being able to work with “fresh” faces, new raw talent for his “fresh, new, raw” designs.

Gag me.

If the big guys wanted to humor him, and it seems they did, fine by me. I had a ten year contract. I sneaked in by a side door, looking for Franco, one of the top assistants who’d been my personal assistant for shows for the past seven years at least. Since I broke out of the pack. He’d be able to get me something to wear. Though I was going to hang onto my Cream t-shirt. Franco would love it. I’d have to keep him from snatching it, I thought with an inward grin. I looked around the showroom. Hotshot kids everywhere. Music was blaring from wall speakers mounted at each corner of the ceiling. Strobe lights flashed as one androgynous youth after another lounged his way across this impromptu runway at the end of the room.

My head started pounding again. I slumped against one of the mannequins in a corner and wondered if I could sneak into the back and grab a shower. I stunk to high heaven. I was probably ruining the ensemble on the mannequin but at the moment I didn’t give a flying fuck. I wondered if Brian had landed yet. Maybe I could borrow a phone and try calling him.

“This, this is what I mean!” a loud, declamatory voice announced. I wished he would go mean whatever it was somewhere farther away; he was actually drowning out that blaring music. He would put my sisters to shame with a voice like that. I peeked out from my lashes. To my dismay, he was pointing at me. Franco was standing next to him, along with one of the tailors.

I straightened up a bit. Franco started forward but I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk in front of this guy, whom I recognized now as the new wunderkind of D&G. Odo himself. He was waving his arms expansively.

“I told you I wanted fresh...raw...new. You bring me these others, these same old things! These old men in young bodies, old women in male bodies, whatever they are, they are not what I want! No wonder there is still the fascination with Danny O’Keefe, at least you can tell he is a male, not one of these boy girls, or girl boys. But I tell you, he is old now, and the world of fashion is bored with the same old thing. There is nothing special about him, but this...this is special. I can see it even when it is a diamond in the rough. He is young, he is raw, but he is fresh and beautiful, and I can make of him a new Danny O’Keefe for the new decade.”

Well, there’s an offer I don’t get every day. All I was looking for was a shower and maybe a better pair of pants to go with my cool t-shirt, I thought, lifting my mouth in a small smile. Who said this day was fucked? I looked at Franco and raised an eyebrow. With my best Queen’s accent, I asked, “So, is this guy legit? He can make me a supermodel?”

With that, I was whisked away faster than you could ask, how does that shoe fit, Cinderella?

“I know I’m looking rather rough around the edges, Franco, but are you telling me this guy can’t tell who I am? I would have thought the only thing raw about me was my smell, which I admit was pretty pungent, but there were extenuating circumstances.”

Gio giggled as I stepped out of the shower and held up my arms for him to start drying me off. As soon as he had moved to my legs, Franco was working on combing the knots out of my hair, never an easy task, especially when the humidity was as bad as it was today. It had been a mass of curls by the time I’d gotten out of the sun.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed their ministrations. The perks of being a top model. Good thing our buddy the designer had stepped out, or I would have to act all shy and bashful at being naked in front of Franco and Gio. Me, Mr. Fresh and Raw. Like I haven’t been naked in front of them more times than I can count over the past decade. They’ve been buffing and polishing me since I was a teenager. Which, come to think of it, may be the clue to the seeming cluelessness of the wunderkind. The Danny O’Keefe that is seen in the modeling world isn’t the Danny O’Keefe that is seen in Pittsburgh. Or even on my days off in New York, although I try to dress up a bit when in the city and tend to keep to the designer clothes at the very least and blow dry my hair. Manicures and pedicures and wax. Shave twice a day.

That isn’t me. Well, not as much, I thought with a grin, thinking of spa days with Emmett. Before I am photographed or walk the runway, I get the full treatment, not to mention, airbrushing as needed, and makeup. Thankfully, I don’t need botox, and wouldn’t use it if I did, it would be hell on my acting, but genetics has blessed me with a young looking face. And my body is in shape, which also owes something to genetics. I wouldn’t mind looking like John at forty-two. Or Matt at fifty-four.

Usually the eyes are a giveaway though. I opened them, realizing that Franco hadn’t answered yet. Normally he was as talkative as Emmett. He looked unhappy from what I could see of him in the mirror. I reached up and grabbed his hand, stilling the comb.

“What is it, caro? Why so sad looking? If I get hired as the fresh new talent, I promise to request you as my P.A.” I tried to make him smile with me.

“I’m a little worried about what he will do when he realizes I didn’t tell him who you are, Danny. You won’t get in trouble, of course not, but he can be a mean one. And who do you think his anger will fall on?”

My smile faded. I hadn’t thought of that. Gio’s smile faded also. I took a fresh towel from his slack hand and bent to kiss him before tucking it around my waist. I sat on the chair in front of the mirror and gestured for them to sit as well.

“Well, as I told you while I was showering, I hit my head. We could say I was a little confused and had some slight amnesia, but I guess that wouldn’t explain why you didn’t identify me right away, would it? So, much as it pains me, we tell the truth, I forced you two not to tell him who I was.” They both started to object and I held up my hand for silence. “Let me finish. I asked you both to stay quiet just so I could find out why he felt the old Danny O’Keefe was such a bad thing and how he was going to improve upon the look. Especially since he didn’t seem to recognize the look all that well, in the raw, so to speak. Which brings me back to my question, Franco, I realize my hair was rather wild, which I haven’t worn that way in a show in ages, but he must have gotten a good look at my eyes, which are rather trade-mark, I thought. How could he not know them?”

“He’s got a form of color blindness,” Gia offered.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” I looked from one to the other. “A fashion designer who is color blind? Well, I long suspected it was a more common affliction than was known, but to have it admitted finally....”

Franco shook his head at me fondly. “You’re such a goof. He really is, but it’s some rare kind. He has glasses he can wear to adjust for it, but he doesn’t often wear them. Says his natural way of viewing colors is fine. It’s...”

“Let me guess..raw... fresh...new?” I smirked at them. They rolled their eyes.

“You got it. He’s going to be back soon and I am to leave your hair combed but natural. And I guess the towel is okay, as opposed to just you in the raw. Do you need anything?”

“A diet coke would be great. And a phone. No, he would find that odd. Listen, call Stefano, no, let me think, yes, call Stefano, he has much more of a sense of humor about this type of thing. Although Dom is fonder of me, I’m not sure that is a good thing for this. Difficult to judge.” I steepled my fingers and the two of them waited. I think they held their breath. “Call both of them, tell them I am here...auditioning. I think they’re in the Madison Avenue office today. I saw them for dinner Monday with Giancarlo. Was it just Monday?” I frowned. “Gio, can you get me some aspirin, please? And a diet coke?”

The door banged open then.

“Do you have a headache, young man? All the excitement, no doubt. Gio, get him some mineral water, much better for him.” Seeing my quick glare, Odo fluttered his hands nervously but didn’t back down. “It’s not good for you to poison your system with all that caffeine. It will ruin that lovely skin of yours, which is perfect now, when you’re young, but you want it to stay that way, don’t you? You don’t want it to turn all leathery and dry before you’re thirty. And some fruit is what you need, not any aspirin, if you have a headache, although why a boy like you should have a headache is a mystery. You don’t look like a drug user. Even so, natural remedies are much better for your stomach than aspirin. What is your name, anyway? I can’t keep calling you Brooklyn, which is how I think of you, or whatever Borough of this Metropolis you’re from. You must have a name, handsome.”

“David, sir. And it’s Queens.” And here I thought I did a good Queens accent, I pouted to myself.

“David Queens. Not a bad name. We’ll bill you as David Q. No piercings or tattoos, thank God. So nice to see a young man who hasn’t marked up his body. Not overly built up nor too skinny...this is what the male body should look like, gentlemen. Nicely muscled but not a bumpy road.”

I had a difficult time containing myself. Nicely muscled? Pardon me? My abs were the envy of any gym I walked into, I’d have you know, you color blind queen, you. Men drooled over my body. Who the hell did he think he was looking at? I had an Oscar winning director on his knees just this morning...and Stephen Lane could have practically any man he wanted.

Except me. Usually. And Brian. Always. Fuck, I needed to stop fucking around here and get in touch with Brian. But I couldn’t just walk out on this charade. I owed it to Franco to finesse my way out. And, as a purely practical matter, I needed some clothes. Which was the point of coming here in the first place. Which was seeming more and more of a bad idea all the time. And here I thought my day was looking up. Which reminded me. What happened to my Cream t-shirt? Damn that fucker Franco, he nicked my shirt.

I batted my pretty green eyes at Odo, which for all he knew could be devil red. Or yellow? I wondered what kind of color blindness he had. Maybe he should stick to black. Hmm, maybe he was behind those space suit designs?

“Uh, Mr. Odo, sir, this is really exciting and all, but can I get dressed in something? I think I might catch a cold in this air conditioning without my gear on.” I played stupid. “Then maybe you could tell me again about making me a model?”

“I plan on designing a whole line around you, David Q–it will be fabulous. Simple, fresh, raw, straight from the street, but hot. Very hot. The look I want for you will be something no one has seen in ages from Dolce & Gabbana.”

No one has seen hot in ages from D&G? Did I hear that right? It was a good thing I’d had practice living with the master of keeping an expressionless mask under all circumstances, otherwise that pronouncement would have made me spit out the fruit juice I’d been given. With a Tylenol, Gio slipped me, God bless him. It wasn’t “done” for the newest kid designer on the D&G team to diss the kings. Very bad form. Either this guy had balls the size of Texas or he was a class A idiot.

I was leaning toward idiot.

This was stupid. I stood up, garbed only in my towel, and in my normal speaking voice, which was a good bit deeper than the one I’d been affecting for David Q. I asked Gio and Franco to excuse Odo and me. I also spoke in Italian and while I was at it, I told Gio to get me a diet coke and place it inside the door before closing it. As Luke always said, a good offense is the best defense. I think he got that from Patton or Montgomery...one of those famous generals.

The young designer’s eyes opened wide.

“You’re, you’re....”

“Yeah, I know. The old, stale, version of Danny O’Keefe. Great, there’s my diet coke, give me a second to poison myself and I’ll be right with you.”

I gulped it down in record time. Good old Gio, he’d brought me two. My towel slipped off as I walked back for the second one but I didn’t give a fuck. Let Odd boy look his fill at my “nice” muscles. The prick.

I turned around as I popped the top on the second can. Seeing Odo staring at me...well, at my cock, to be specific, I reached over for a fresh towel and wrapped it around my waist before dropped back down into the chair again.

“How old are you, Odo? It’s William Odo, isn’t it? But you prefer Odo?” I tilted my head as I raised the question.

He flushed again. Pale skin revealed a blush so easily. There should be a medicine for that. Anti-blush cream or something. Taylor had the same problem. Couldn’t hide a blush to save his life. Miguel seemed to find the fact that he still blushed endearing. Since he did it just as often when angry as when embarrassed. I didn’t find it at all cute. On Daphne, it’s cute, on Taylor, it was just fucking irritating. I found Odo to fall in the irritating category.

“I’m twenty-five. And my last name is Odophopolis, but the Odo is more marketable, I think.”

Uh, sure. I would have gone with Polis, perhaps, as opposed to Odo, sounds like odor, but that is me. This is the man who chose David Q for me. Marketing is not his forte, I suspect, but he is supposed to be a genius at design. Go figure.

“So, you’re twenty-five and your designs are going to make Dolce and Gabbana hot...hotter than they’ve ever been, which you don’t think is all that hot, if I understand you correctly?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed. I watched as he turned even redder. I was so grateful for my genetics today. Given how much I’d done to cause me to blush, my un-Irish like complexion was yet another blessing. I never really properly appreciated my father, I decided.

“You know,” I said to him, sipping my diet coke and staring at the ceiling contemplatively. “When I was seventeen, the age of a lot of those androgynous boys out there, I wanted to be a dancer. And I had the chance to work with the most incredible dancer I’ve ever met to this day...a prima ballerina who was about twice my age. She had laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and a few gray hairs in her auburn hair if you looked really closely, and there were days when her knees and ankles acted up from all the years of abuse...more than twenty by that point...that she’d put them through. But when she danced–ah, when she danced–it took your breath away. It was magical. People overuse that phrase a lot but it was true about her dancing. People who didn’t even get ballet came away from her performances with tracks of tears on their faces. My dad, a big burly bar owner...he cried to see her dance. There was not a young female ballerina in her late teens or twenties in New York City at that time who could compare to this Frenchwoman of thirty-four. And when she was willing to take me under her wing and teach me, I thought myself the luckiest man in the world.”

I looked down from the ceiling to see if he was listening. He was, his color-blind eyes were fixed on mine, no longer looking at my body, and I could see understanding in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t hopeless. I continued.

“You see, she didn’t pick me because I was fresh, or new, and someone she could mold in her image, but because, she said, I had respect for what came before me. I was young, but I could see what was old around me and value it. She didn’t see that quality much in Americans, but it was different in Europe. Maybe it was a function of being the youngest in a family with many older people in it, or coming from a family that had immigrated to this country and had different values, but I was different from my peers in many ways. I didn’t ever see her as an older woman, or an older dancer, I saw her always as herself. It seems silly now, but to most of the teenagers she worked with that year, she was seen as very much older, but as a matter of fact, while she was coming to the end of her prime as a dancer, she was still in it, and as a woman she was very much in the beginning of her prime. For purposes of teaching dance, there was so much she had to share, and for most of the students, they couldn’t see past her age in order to learn from her. So they looked instead to her most junior apprentices. I was the only one to benefit from a once in a lifetime opportunity.

"I mention her experience with the young people she tried to teach because I see in you that same disregard for what has come before you that so many of my peers had. As in the dance, the world of fashion design relies on classics, and before you can innovate successfully, I think you need to understand the basics of design and what constitutes a classic. Anyone can throw a piece of material around a great looking model and call it fashion. A really good model can even sell it. But high fashion calls for something more, just as there is a difference between moving in rhythm to music and a dance choreographed by Balanchine, just as there is something more to a tuxedo by Dolce & Gabbano than by the fine designers who produce J. C. Penny's home brand. I’m taking the time to talk to you, Odo, because there must be something more to you than stupid bravado for Domenico and Stefano to invest their time and money in you. This whole auditioning for the next big model thing...they’re indulging you quite a bit and to my knowledge you aren’t related, and you sure as hell aren’t their type.” He flushed yet again at the perceived gibe. “ So that leaves talent. Which is more lasting than sex, so don’t look so affronted. Besides, if anyone has a right to be offended between us, I think it is me. You’ve taken your share of jabs at Danny O’Keefe, and to my knowledge, I haven’t done a damn thing to you.”

His blush deepened at that. The fluttering queen demeanor slipped away like David Q’s towel.

“I thought I needed a hook, something to make me stand out. And it was working. My designs were gaining notice but none of the guys they were putting my clothes on were right for them. What I needed was someone like you, but I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of getting you to wear an Odo design, so I was getting desperate for next month’s show. Here it was my big debut and all I had were these frail waifs who would be dwarfed by my designs. I wanted someone sexy, boyish and, well, hot. What I got were groomed to the tenth degree and skinny as a bone.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you simply talk to Franco and tell him you wanted sexy and ungroomed, and a bit big and burly? He would know enough to understand that in model speak, that means a 30 inch waist. Maybe a 31,” I grinned.

“He scares me,” Odo confessed. “The man is so efficient and perfect and all he ever talked about was you, the epitome of perfection. So one day I said I was going to find a new man, right off the street. And Stefano heard me and it kind of took off from there. He didn’t hear the part about it being someone different from you, though,” he was quick to add. “He just loved the idea about it being something new and fresh. There wasn’t any mention of it being...”

“The anti-O’Keefe. I would assume that. It wouldn’t look good for this to be billed as looking for the opposite of their signature model the year after I am given a vote of confidence and signed for the next decade. But the showiness of getting all the young unsigned models to come audition...Stef tends to love ideas like that. Though I’m surprised you didn’t just get together with my nephew. He would have been perfect for your real purpose. A new, improved Danny O’Keefe. All the pretty minus the scars.”

Odo looked at me quizzically. I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. Listen, for all that you might be trying to break into a tough field and make your place, you do it right by making your own place, not by stomping down on the men who are trying to help you. You don’t know that I wouldn’t have worn one of your designs unless you showed them to Franco. He knows what looks good on me, and if he liked them, he would have shown them to me, and if any were good for me, I get first dibs. Always. New designers or not, I wear what I want in these shows. But for you to start spreading the word that you’re too good for me, that is rather counter-productive, don’t you think? Once that got out, I let Franco know not to bother looking at your stuff for me. I didn’t think you wanted an ‘old’ model wearing your stuff, so even though I knew I could countermand you, I wasn’t going to wear any man’s work who didn’t want me wearing it. Little did I know you didn’t know me from any Tom, Dick or David were I to sit right under your nose.”

Odo looked like he’d been kicked in the gut. “I’d only seen you on the runway. You look really different in person. And I can’t believe you didn’t have him look at my stuff because of what I did. Once I heard from the other designers that you weren’t even considering my stuff, oh fuck. I really screwed myself big time.”

I rolled my eyes. I looked at the wall clock. Nine o’clock. I hadn’t eaten all day other than the tuna fish sandwich with Fr. Dean, and the back of my head was throbbing like a jackhammer and this queen was having angst attacks. He’d be crying on my shoulder any second now and I did not want his snot on my shoulder. I’d have to take another shower. I wished I’d kept my Cream t-shirt and Wranglers and just gone to my apartment when Fr. Dean brought me back. This is what I got for not avoiding temptation like he said.

I wanted Brian. Who should be in California by now. In his meeting. Damn it all. Talking about Judith had brought it all back to me. I wanted to go out somewhere and dance and fuck and forget it again. But Brian wasn’t here. He was across the fucking country. I felt like I might cry. Except I didn’t do that. I took a deep breath. This had to be the longest fucking day of my life. I would be glad to be done with twenty-nine by the time it was over.

“Listen, find me something to wear. Something hot to make me look better than ‘nice.’ I promise I’ll wear it in the September show if it gets me some action tonight.”

He looked me over, suddenly all business. “Leave your hair down and natural,” he ordered, as he got up and walked over to a rack of clothes. “Franco, come in here,” he called out.

Franco and Gio came tumbling into the room, proof positive that they’d been listening at the door the whole time. I wondered what they were doing with all the other models who’d been auditioning? I guess they were sent home for the day while I took my forty minute shower.

“What are we doing?” Franco asked, looking between the two of us cautiously.

“We are going to make David Q even more gorgeous and hot than usual,” Odo said haughtily. I rolled my eyes again. Maybe my young friend needed a knock on the head. Or to fall on his ass.

“My eyes are green, by the way...I like wearing green.”

He looked back at me. “Black is hot. You should wear black.”

Why wasn’t I surprised?

“So much for fresh and new. Black is hot,” I murmured to Franco. “Be sure to pass the word to Dom and Stef.”

Gio giggled.

**********************


 

I was tired and beyond worried. Double-teaming Lane as John and I both yelled at him for leaving Danny stranded on the edge of Queens didn’t even relieve my stress levels. Of course, non-stop double cappuccinos helped keep the edge. One thing you could say for New Yorkers, they know how to make their caffeinated beverages–strong and easily accessible. I was surprised they didn’t have coin operated Starbucks in the cabs yet.

Memo to self, make that suggestion to the CEO of Starbucks.

Miguel was far more helpful than anyone else, suggesting we retrace Danny’s steps as best we could. He went out with Lane’s driver to where Danny had gotten out of the limo, and started hitting the churches and bars. He hit pay dirt, finding a priest who sold Danny some used clothes from his church thrift store and then gave him a ride back into Manhattan. He also found out from the priest that Danny’s cell phone was dead, explaining the lack of a call to me. I was sorry to hear that Danny had refused money from the young priest and also had insisted on paying for his clothes, reportedly a used pair of Wranglers and an old t-shirt. Miguel was able to give the priest a donation for his kindness, insisting that Danny’s family would want him to have it.

I wish Danny had stayed with the man, who was apparently upset to learn that Danny may have been injured. From the sounds of it, Danny had been acting normally, if slightly oddly. According to the priest, Miguel said Danny was apparently delighted over the beat up old t-shirt he bought for a quarter and insisted on discarding his own nicer shirt, which was simply sweaty, for the t-shirt, which was at least forty years old. It had been donated by an elderly parishioner whose adult son had died recently and she found it among his things.

The idea of the fastidious Danny wearing some dead man’s t-shirt convinced John and Brandon that he was brain damaged. Miguel merely shrugged and reserved judgment. He had a dinner meeting with Giancarlo and Stefano Gabbano to attend so he had to excuse himself. He offered to make his excuses to the designer if he were needed, but in reality, what more could one more man do? I asked him to keep his ears open. There was always a chance Danny could contact Giancarlo or him, knowing they were in the city.

Walking around his apartment, not knowing where he was, was torture. The place had been decorated years ago when Angel was alive and there were pictures of him on the walls, as well as some of her. He’d redone the bedroom and study but hadn’t gotten around to the living room yet. The younger O’Keefes liked it, at least they said they did, and Julia and Johnny had added their own modeling head shots and magazine covers to the “brag wall” as Danny called it. It was reminiscent of the gallery at Divas, with all of its O’Keefe pictures, mainly Danny. Here, he predominated also, although there were quite a few of Angel O’Keefe. Julie was a beauty, but she didn’t quite have that certain something that had made Angel one of a kind, the kind of model that landed her national covers at eighteen, and international contracts before she was twenty-one. It was the Dark Angel campaign, however, that really lifted her to the status of legend. I always worried if it also led to her death, since she never came back to earth after that, never seemed to be simple Angel O’Keefe from Pittsburgh again.

Looking into those deep green eyes as she looked over her shoulder in the famous cover shot with Danny, I wished I could talk to her, ask her if it was all worth it. She wanted so much to be rich and famous, to be a world renowned beauty. She never wanted to become old and ugly, she once told me. She would have hated turning thirty, much as I once did. Is that why she didn’t try harder to live, she was happy to go out at twenty-nine and never make it to thirty? I wonder how she would have felt about leaving her little girl behind–did she ever think about Briana when she thought about getting older–or was it all about herself?

Danny didn’t fear aging. Not for himself and not for me. He teased me about it whenever he caught me looking for gray hairs or applying my expensive anti-wrinkle creams. He told me his jiz was all the anti-wrinkle cream I needed and promised me a steady supply for the rest of my life.

“Where are you, Danny?” I whispered into the dark room, my fingers tracing his unsmiling face on the old photograph. “I need you back.”

I had to get out of this apartment. It was too fucking depressing with its ghosts. No wonder Danny rarely stayed here. I should try to convince him to sell it, or give it to his nieces and nephews, let them make new memories, better ones. I didn’t look back as I closed the door. I wanted my Danny, my laughing one, not that young man in the picture, with his unsmiling eyes, holding onto his lost sister.

I took the stairs two at a time on my way out. There was a new club, Torrid, that Miguel mentioned. I would go there first, and hit every other one I heard about until I found him.
 

**********************
 

He was leaning against a fucking light pole when I finally found him, the light casting a halo around his glossy hair, which was full and wild around his bare shoulders. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back so that his long neck was exposed to the room. But there was nothing submissive about his pose. He held his body too taut; ready to spring into action at any sudden movement. One finger was hooked loosely in the low riding black jeans, which were slim cut in the legs, flattering his muscular thighs, looser at the top, looking as though they might fall off his hips any second. It was a strange look, yet sexy, making you think about slipping them down just a little bit further. He had a loosely woven cotton shirt worn half off, seemingly too big for him, and again, it made you think of taking it the rest of the way off. It too was black, and it made his tanned skin look smooth and lickable, his nipples light pink in contrast. He had some kind of vest on too, black on black, leather I think, it was so different from what he normally wore, I had to look twice to be sure it was him, with his bad knee bent up, resting behind him and his other arm swinging free in time to the music.

He was so beautiful.

Men were just staring, not daring to approach. I watched him for a few moments, so relieved beyond words to find him unharmed that I just wanted to enjoy it. I sent a quick text message, letting John know he was found, would report more later, and then turned the phone off.

I watched as after a brief discussion at the bar, one good looking guy approached Danny and said something in a low voice. I couldn’t hear his reply, but his lips were easy to read.

“Fuck off.”

That was my cue. I walked over behind him as quietly as I could.

“Having a good night?”

A slow smile came over his face. “Not particularly. In fact, it’s been a hell of a rotten night, after one of the worst days of my life.”

I pulled him into my arms. “I don’t know about that, I heard some parts of it were middling to fair. Something about a limo ride.”

He winced. “Can we talk about that later? I really, really need you. I don’t know how you are here, but I’m beyond happy that you are.”

“I sure as fuck hope so. After the limo ride, we have a priest and something about a nude heart to heart with some flaming designer in Manhattan to discuss.”

“Did I mention I have amnesia?”

“Did I mention you look hot in those clothes?”

“Do I look as fuckable as I did at twenty-two?”

“No.”

He tilted his head and looked at me, frowning slightly. God, I loved that tilted head look of his. I bent and kissed him, pressing his body backward against the pole, being careful to shield his head with my hands. I could feel the bump where he must have cracked his head earlier. I softened the kiss, moving my mouth over his lips, ghosting my tongue over his open mouth teasing him, just flicking his tongue and moving mine away as he tried to get more.

I lifted my head and looked into his gorgeous green eyes. “You were never this fuckable at twenty-two...I remember you from back then. You were hot, but not this hot. I could still resist you back then. I could still stand being away from you back then, could still think of you with other men without going crazy, could fuck other men without finding it empty and pointless. Now, there’s only you, the man you are now is so much more than the boy you were then that I can’t imagine anyone else measuring up...ever.”

“I screwed up today.” He looked at me unhappily, his arms coming around my neck.

“It doesn’t matter. I know why. Are you okay now?”

He shook his head.

“Fuck me, Bri. Take me into the back room and help me forget today. Make everyone else disappear, please. Let me know it’s you and not one of these pawing strangers, but do it here, now...I’m so tired of being alone today.”

I gathered him close and guided him into the back. It was instinct, I could always find the back room of any club by the most direct route within seconds of needing it. There was a genius to his clothes–they were deceptive in their design, appearing both loose and tight in all the right places, they also provided a gay man’s dream of accessibility, yet with a certain amount of coverage maintained. One would think they were designed with fucking in back rooms in mind. I wanted six sets of these for myself and ten for Danny.

I slid my hands down his smooth back as I widened his stance with my knees.

“You sure about this,” I asked, even as my heartbeat was picking up. In all our times together, and the many, many times we’d made love, we’d never fucked like this in a backroom. Danny didn’t like sex in front of strangers. A threesome, sure. With another couple we knew in the room, no problem. In front of anonymous strangers? He preferred not. At least not since I’d known him, although there were stories.

It was one of my favorite things.

He turned around, his lips slightly swollen from our kisses, his hair curly and wild as it fell around his face. He brushed it out of his eyes and smiled a feral smile. His shirt and vest were off his shoulders, down to his elbows, the long shirttail hanging down to his knees, his pants were completely off and he’d kicked off his shoes. He looked thoroughly debauched, like a fallen angel. Or dark angel.

He crouched down and started unfastening my jeans. Looking up with a grin as he took out my cock, he answered, “I’m sure.” He then leaned forward and swallowed me in one practiced move. I groaned, bracing my arms on the wall above his head as the men around us stopped their own activities to look over jealously. There was one big guy who looked about ready to pass out at the sight. I smirked at him then turned my attention back to Danny. Fuck, he was good at this, his tongue roving all over my shaft as his long fingers played with my balls. He worked me with his mouth just long enough to make me rock hard then stood up.

“Press me against the wall and fuck my brains out,” he demanded.

I wasn’t going to have to be asked again. I knew it was what he needed...just as much as he needed me to hold him tight afterward and make him talk instead of shutting himself away. And maybe that had to be the condition.

“Promise me you’ll sleep with me afterward. And we’ll talk...about Judith...and getting older...and even about Angel if you want,” I whispered, for his ears only. As far as anyone else knew, it was just more fondling and kissing. But I had his face gripped firmly so he couldn’t look away. I needed to see his eyes. Tears glittered, but didn’t fall. My Danny didn’t cry in front of strangers.

“Please Brian...please.”

“Promise me.” I felt our erections straining together, pressing for release. I wanted so much to be buried inside him, to pound away all the frustrations of the fucking day...but I wasn’t angry at him. Angry at Lane, and Brandon and even at Angel, yes. John too, for not taking the time to talk to Danny and listen to him instead of simply doing what was best. But most of all, I was angry at Judith, the beautiful dancer, for not driving more carefully and awakening hurts long left dormant and removing all chance Danny would ever have of finding peace there. As with Angel, it was one more woman who was leaving him with unfinished business.

I gripped his hips to stop his grinding against me. I smiled grimly at him. “I am used to your ways, and I can counter them...plus I can outlast you tonight...barely, but I can. And there are other young asses to plow in this room if you won’t agree to my terms....”

His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t....”

“Try me....limo boy.”

His eyes narrowed. “Etienne has a big mouth.”

I leaned forward and nipped at his bottom lip, which was sticking out. “He’d have to, to fit that huge cock of yours in it. Now, do we have a deal, and am I going to get to fuck you, or are you all talk yet again?”

He huffed at me and turned around, spreading his legs wide and sweeping the black shirt to the side, giving me a lovely view of his well formed ass cheeks. Well formed, hell, they were works of art.

“Deal, now shut up and fuck me. And you’d better have some lube...none of this lubed condom shit.”

“I am sure you’ll have no complaints,” I purred, stroking a cheek with one hand while I reached into my jeans pocket for lube and condom. He looked so perfect from this angle...his corded thighs flexed, his back just curved a little bit as he arched away from the wall and looked over his shoulder at me challengingly, a slight smile gracing his lips, his arms up above his head.

I swallowed. I was harder than I’d been in ages. If I wasn’t careful this would be over before I’d started. That would lead to complaints, I suspected. I’d probably find myself spread-eagled against the wall.

“Need help with that?” Cocky grin on the gorgeous brat as he nodded toward the condom. I spanked his ass. Hard. He bit his lip.

I leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “I’d forgotten how pretty your ass looks like this.”

He turned to capture my lips with his, pressing his ass back toward my cock. I donned the condom quickly and squirted the lube onto my fingers to start prepping him. I was more than ready. But then he started talking to me in that voice of his and I almost lost it right then without even getting inside him.

“All these men are watching you, wishing they were me, wishing they could have what I have, your thick, long cock about to slam inside me. They’re barely breathing, waiting for the moment you slide home, wondering if you’re going to go slow, inch by inch, or slam in, balls deep in one thrust....”

His voice was always such a surprise, so low and rich...a bass voice coming from this angel face. But he knew how to use that voice, stretching out the syllables, rolling the words around on his tongue, or cutting them off sharply to maximum effect, the shock vibrating down into your balls.

I ran a hand along his chest, stroking his nipples as I slowly stretched and lubed his opening. I knew he was trying to get me to lose control, but I wanted it good, not just cathartic for him. I wanted him screaming in pleasure, not pain. I moved my mouth along his neck, sucking it at his most sensitive spot as I positioned myself to start inching in.

“Maybe I’ll start slowly inching in, bit by bit,” I murmured, nuzzling him, causing him to move restlessly against me, “and then slam home.” I pushed the rest of the way in, causing him to gasp and push against the wall, pressing back against me. I held him still against me for a moment, his back flush against my chest, as he caught his breath, his head down for a beat before he lifted it back up and rested his head against my chest.

“God, I love you, get moving,” he growled, giving me another grin.

“That was the general plan,” I assured him. Not that he didn’t do his share of thrusting, moving in perfect sync with me. I kept my arms bracketed around him, shielding his view of the men around us. But except for his comments earlier, his talk stayed focused on us, and what he was feeling. I grabbed his cock as we both grew close to the edge and he wrapped both arms around my neck, arching back as I sped up my thrusts, his knees bent slightly to push his ass back toward me. I’d never thought to see him so uninhibited in such a setting and the very sight of him was turning me on even more.

“Oh fuck, Danny, you’re so fucking beautiful...come now, my God...oh my God...”

I think I came for over a minute, and even afterward, my body continued to shudder from the aftershocks. Danny’s come was all over the wall and my hand. I licked it off, winning a weak chuckle from him.

He turned around and leaned against me. “Take me to bed now, please?” He nuzzled my chest. “Oh, and dressing me would be nice too. I’m feeling a draft on my ass.”

I rubbed my cheek against the top of his head.

“That wasn’t a draft, that was my dick,” I told him before bending to pick up his pants.

“Goofball,” he said fondly. “Did I mention I love you?”

“I kind of guessed it from your willingness to cast your honor away and do the nasty in this rather public place...much to my enjoyment. Exactly how hard did you hit your head today?”

He looked from under his lashes at me as I fastened his pants. I knew that he knew exactly how attractive a look that was so I forced myself to ignore it and started hunting for his shoes. I glared at the wannabe trick who handed them to me. Show was over, nothing to look at now. No touching his personal items. Or him. The message received, the trick moved back to a respectful distance.

I turned my attention back to Danny. “Well? It hasn’t escaped me that you haven’t answered, nor that, enjoyable as this was, and it was fucking fantastic, trust me, I do know that it isn’t your usual thing.”

He stared at me somberly then looked away as he toed into his shoes. “Is this where you apologize for taking advantage of me in my distress?”

I snorted. He glanced up, his eyes glittering. I put my hands on his shoulders again. I was almost afraid to let go of him, although he had promised, and Danny didn’t break promises. Even those made in the throes of sex.

“I didn’t take advantage of you. Hell, if anyone did any taking advantage of anyone here, it was you of me, but under the circumstances, I forgive you. We’ll count it as an early birthday present to you. And my next five birthday presents.” He smiled slightly but still lowered his head. I picked it up, holding his chin as I kissed him again.

“I love you. Remember when you wouldn’t even let me say that to you? Because you didn’t trust in us, mainly I think because you didn’t think I trusted in us. We’ve come so far since then and in a lot of ways, loving someone as much as we love each other makes life harder at times. Today was hell for me because I didn’t know where you were or how you were. But I knew that whatever was going on, you would need me, because I trust in that now and I know that when something bad happens, you need me by your side, just as I need to be there. Not being there, and not even being able to reach you, to talk to you, it was hard, Danny. Scary hard. I was so afraid something bad had happened to you and I would never even know. I started trying to think, did I remember to tell you I loved you when we said good-bye on Monday when you left, and it was driving me nuts that I couldn’t remember.”

He blinked really hard and then started dragging me out of the club like a bat out of hell. Once we got outside, he started breathing heavily. I think he might have been holding his breath inside while I was talking to him. He started walking down the street, holding onto my hand. After several minutes, he started talking. A lot. It just poured out.

“We didn’t. Say that we loved each other, that is. I was rushing around, trying to get the notes I had for the songs, and talk to Mary Pat about Briana’s medicine, and coordinate with Cynthia the arrangements for my so-called surprise party this weekend, that I was late leaving for the airport and we just sort of hugged and waved and said we’d call each night. Which we did, but business and family stuff took precedence. It doesn’t always, not even usually, but this week it did. And then there was this stupid thing with this musician about me not being the dark angel any more...he called me the vanilla angel of all things, and I don’t know, it was stupid but it rankled. Especially with Brandon being there so obviously watching over me like I’m fragile. I was in the city on my own at nineteen and all of a sudden I need a keeper? It made me feel helpless, like I did after that whole October mess. And then I got angry, and well, you know I played that stupid prank, which I never would have let go so far and worry you, much less drag you up here, but then Etienne told me about Judith, and I guess I just spun out of control. Angel...God, Brian, she’s just another piece of it. I’d meant to have him take me home when I got in the car with him, but when he told me about Judith, the thought of going back to that apartment, with all the memories of her...I just couldn’t. Of course, I never thought he’d stick me in Queens.”

He looked up at me. The lights from the clubs flickered off and on, once again casting a halo on my dark angel’s shining hair.

“Promise me that we’ll never take each other for granted again. I don’t care how many gray hairs you get, or wrinkles you may have...I hope you get a lot of them if it means you’re with me a long, long time. But let’s not ever leave each other without making sure we tell the other how much we love them. Maybe it sounds stupid, but....”

“It isn’t stupid. And I’ll do my best. For you, I’ll even be willing to consider wrinkles, but I see no reason to go gray when there are perfectly good hair color products....” I pulled him into my arms again and held him tight. I whispered fiercely, “No one who you love is ever in doubt of that fact, you have nothing to feel bad about when it comes to Angel, Danny, no one could have been a better brother than you, no one.”

“I wish I believed that...I wish...I wish I could have saved her. For Briana. For herself.”

“Only she could have done that, Danny. You can’t save someone who didn’t want to save herself.”

“She didn’t want to die,” he argued, painful denial in his voice.

“Then it was an accident or fate or God, and there definitely wasn’t anything you could’ve done to prevent it,” I said briskly. “You aren’t omnipotent and while you saved me, you can’t save everyone.”

“I wish I’d made peace with Judith before she died. I owe her so much,” he whispered into my shoulder as we started walking again, our arms wrapped around each other’s waist.

I took a deep breath. “From what I know of Judith, which is only hearsay from you, and Aida, and Lane, I don’t know that she ever considered the two of you to not be at peace, Danny.” As he looked at me perplexed, I squeezed his hand. “Hear me out. You said once that Judith was somewhat like me, right?”

He nodded. “The old you, actually. Not the new, improved you,” he grinned.

“I assumed as much,” I said dryly. “Given that Judith was a she me, meaning that she took her pleasures of the flesh about as lightly as I did, and as often, but to her credit, she also took her career very seriously, and I think she could be a loyal friend in many ways, it sounds like she had a certain loyalty to that partner, Nikolai, well, I can lay some claim to understanding her without ever having met her. At least I understand the type. And based on that, I would surmise that Judith would have been surprised to find out that you considered the two of you to be at odds all these years, Danny. You had a good time, you danced great together, and you parted. There was the brief unhappiness, but she may simply have looked on that as a bittersweet part of the whole episode, with the dancing and the acclaim that accompanied that being the most important thing the two of you shared. Not all women are the same about being mothers, just as not all men are the same about fatherhood. She loved her career. She loved dancing with you. In her way, she loved you, but not in any way that made her want to stay with you forever...thank God.”

“I handled the whole thing badly.”

“Of course you did, you were seventeen. She was thirty-four and she could have handled it better than she did. If you had contacted her at any time in the past ten years and brought it all up it would just have been awkward. Especially since she seems to have settled down with Nikolai, more or less. Any approach by you probably would have been viewed as an attempt at a reconciliation of a different type, which, if she wasn’t interested, would have been embarrassing for you, and if she were interested, would have been really embarrassing. Seriously, it was a sleeping dog better left alone.”

Danny was looking at me as though totally amazed. “Why didn’t you ever explain it to me like that before? It would have saved me so much angst over the years.”

I shrugged. “You never asked.” I looked around. “So, where to tonight? Westin or Doubletree? Marriott? You name it. Miguel offered a room at his place but I think John is there.” Which reminded me, I’d better text message John soon or I would be facing pistols at dawn, or the moral equivalent. Racquetball at noon.

Danny yawned then put his head back down on my shoulder.

“You decide. I’m too young for these weighty decisions. Just make sure it has soft sheets and room service.”

Westin, or Marriott, I decided as I flagged down a cab. Walking along with his hand in my back pocket was ridiculously romantic, but he looked ready to drop any second. Time for little gay boys to go to bed. After a bath.
 

**********************
 

I stretched out luxuriously. I felt like purring. Forget satin sheets; nothing felt as good next to the skin as really high quality Egyptian cotton. These must be at least 800 count. I lifted my head tentatively. No pain. I sighed happily. Maybe I purred too. Life had improved tremendously.

I heard a low laugh from an area to the left of the bed. I peeked out from under my lashes. Brian. Good. Wearing one of those nice white robes. I could do without the robe, but that could be remedied. At least he wasn’t fully dressed. I opened my eyes all the way.

“Food?” I asked hopefully. I think I was missing on several meals.

“On its way. I ordered several of your favorites. Brunch type things. It is late morning, in case you’re interested. Of your last day as a twenty-something. I’ve held off your big bad brother as long as possible but he is on his way here. Unless I tell the hotel to tell him we’ve checked out. Shall I?”

Brian looked perfectly serious.

“You’d do that for me?” I smiled crookedly at the thought of how pissed off John would be. But hard on the heels of that thought came an image of John as he’d looked almost two years ago, when he’d just finished fighting Edward’s thugs to rescue Brian and me. He was overbearing and annoying and arrogant...and he’d risk his life for me if he thought I was in danger. I sighed. “Of course you would, but I wouldn’t want you to. John must have been worried sick. I owe him an apology. And if he still wants me to go get checked out at the hospital, I guess I should do it. It would be the mature thing to do, huh?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m not the mature one around here.” Brian stood up and dropped his robe to the floor. I smiled appreciatively at his long, lean body, all smooth muscles and graceful lines.

“How long do we have before brunch gets here?” I asked, throwing back the sheet and spreading my legs so that my cock stood up at attention. Brian crawled up over me, reaching for a condom from the nightstand as he answered.

“I think the man said about thirty minutes. Five minutes ago. Which is about how long it should take John to get here...give or take. How long do you think it will take you to get me where I want to get to?”

I swallowed as I watched Brian hold himself poised over my bobbing, leaking cock, and reach back to insert a long lubed finger into himself.

I ripped open the condom he’d tossed me and rolled it on.

“I think we can accomplish that trip...I’m halfway there already,” I gasped as he lifted out of reach just as I got the condom on. His hazel eyes gleamed at me. “Now, what were those options you discussed last night? Slow, teasing entry, inch by inch....”

He lowered down, resting his entry against the tip of my cock, making me moan in frustration. I grinned at him, and gripped his slim hips tightly. “Nah, it was balls deep in one hard thrust,” I yelled, matching my action to the words, pushing my hips up hard as I held him steady.

“Fucking hell,” he yelled, as I slammed home, hitting paydirt as he clenched his muscles and swore again. “Yes, now keep doing it again just like that, you fucker, just as the man ordered last night.”

God, I love this man.

I just wish my brother had knocked before he’d come in. Or that Brian had locked the door when he’d grabbed the paper from the hallway. I really didn’t mind the back room last night but I could have done without having sex in front of my older brother.

Ever.

Happy birthday to me.

Maybe I could claim brain damage?

 

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