Chiaroscuro (19 page)

She'd worn her mother's gown at their wedding, and had tried to alter it herself, though at the time her sewing talents lay no further than stitching hems and sewing on buttons. It still hadn't quite fit and neither had the suit he'd worn, and none of it had mattered. It hadn't mattered that they decorated in paper streamers and that the cake, one of his first, was lopsided and the frosting wasn't very smooth. It had still been an incredible day.

And now she was marrying a Nob Hill Marcus, with a reception at the Museum of Art and a guest list in the hundreds.

"You look like a princess," he said out loud.

She and the seamstress both smiled at him. "I feel like one in this dress."

"It's very unusual for the fiancé to sit in on fittings," the seamstress remarked. "But we're happy you're pleased, Mr. Marcus."

"Oh, I'm not Mr. Marcus--I'm not the fiancé."

"Oh--are you a brother?"

"I'm an ex-husband." Ben grinned around his lollipop.

The seamstress started visibly. "Well--that's--very modern."

"We're a very modern couple," Tristan said. She looked over her shoulder at Ben. "You know, there's another reason I wanted to talk to you today, Benjie."

"Would you like me to go?" the seamstress said.

"No, not at all. Benjie."

"I'm listening, Tris."

"I want you to be one of my attendants."

The seamstress made a sound between a laugh and a cough. Ben made a similar sound and nearly dropped his lollipop.

"Tris, are you serious? Do you want to put me in taffeta?"

Tristan snorted. "I'm not putting my bridesmaids in taffeta. The very idea. It's a winter wedding."

"Oh, yes, of course, how gauche of me. Explain yourself, please, Tristan darling?"

"Is it all right if I--" Tristan gathered up the gown and stepped down to sit in the matching dinky chair at Ben's side. "I need your blessing to do this, Benjie."

"You have my blessing--you've had it since the day you told me."

"I need you to stand up with me," she said patiently. "I need you to bear witness that this is okay. A lot of people there are going to remember the first one and I just--I need my best friend next to me."

Ben looked at her a moment and then leaned over and lightly kissed her. "Well, when you put it that way, pretty girl, how can I say no? Even if you were going to put me in purple taffeta."

She laughed and patted his cheek. "I wouldn't put you in purple. It's not your color. I am going to put you in a very lovely tuxedo with a boutonnière."

"I'll trust your taste. My mother says we still ought to make the cake."

"None of the bakeries I've tasted at are as good as Gallaghers, that's true." She looked down at her hands and smiled to herself. "I'm getting married, Benjie," she murmured, playing with her engagement ring. The diamond was twice the size--probably more--than the one he had given her.

"You are, honey," he said, taking her hand. "And it's the right thing."

She squeezed his fingers. "Coffee after?"

"I'd love to."

"You need to tell me more about this Jamie guy."

"There's nothing more to tell," Ben said with a laugh and the seamstress made that half-laugh/half-cough sound again. "He's just a nice guy that I like being with."

"Details over coffee," Tristan said, standing again, and the seamstress hurried over to straighten out the gown.

***

Tristan tried to press him for more details in the coffee shop, but Ben was telling the truth: there were no more details. He and Jamie watched TV, saw movies, cooked meals, went to the gym, talked for hours.

There was hand-holding, there were hugs, there were back rubs. There were hello and goodbye kisses. But there was never anything more.

Ben wondered if there ever would be. Mourning periods were understandable, but it almost two months had passed, and despite a few throwaway dates, Jamie showed no sign of moving on.

"He hasn't talked to Micah," he told Tristan. "I know he got tested again just to be on the safe side. But I wish he'd just go talk to the kid, let them get some closure."

"He's not going to get over it in a few months, Benjie," Tristan said and sipped her coffee. "It takes time to recover from a broken heart."

"If I thought he'd actually been in love I'd be a lot more sympathetic. But the kid said something to me that really hit home--he said that Jamie had this fantasy built up and there was no way he could live up to it, because who could?"

Tristan sipped again, thoughtful. "There's nothing wrong with allowing people their fantasies."

"Right, but it is wrong to expect people to be something they're not. Don't get me wrong, I think Jamie's fantastic but it's like he expects life to be--well, like one of his paintings. You know? A perfect, enclosed little world."

Tristan smiled. "I can't wait to meet him."

"Name the day, honey. He'll probably be my date to the wedding; is that okay?"

"Of course it is."

"What's that smug look for?"

"Who's smug?" She laughed. "It's just you, planning a date months in advance. He must be special."

Ben opened his mouth and shut it again, drank some coffee. "He's a short, funny-looking Englishman who always has paint under his fingernails."

"Like I thought. Special."

"I'm getting more coffee," Ben said and escaped to the front counter.

***

The door to Jamie's apartment was open but Ben didn't hear voices or music playing. Ben walked down the hall a little faster and looked inside, and was relieved to see that while the apartment was in a state of chaos it was no messier than usual. Jamie's paintings and drawings were out, leaning against the walls and propped up against furniture and spread out on the tables and counter. Jamie was neatening them up, putting sketches into a portfolio.

"Hey," Ben said, lingering in the doorway.

Jamie looked up and smiled. "Hey. You're back from work early."

"I left early--Tristan needed to borrow me for a bit."

"Oh? And how's she?"

"Remarkably calm for someone who's getting marred in two months. She wants to meet you."

"Bring her by anytime." He zipped the portfolio closed.

Ben nodded, looking around. "So what happened here? Did you lose something?"

"No. Leo was by earlier, with a friend who owns an art gallery. He saw Leo and Adam's ceiling and wanted to see more of my work."

"This is a good thing, isn't it? What did he think?"

"It's a very good thing." Jamie started gathering canvases into a stack. "He liked it. He thinks I have a lot of promise. He's giving me a show in February."

"Jamie!" He crossed the room and lifted Jamie up in a hug, spinning him around. "That's wonderful!"

Jamie laughed, arms around Ben's neck. "Thanks. Thanks. It's--yeah. It's exciting."

He put Jamie back on his feet. "You don't sound very excited."

"I am--mostly I'm overwhelmed, really. A show of my own at twenty-six. That doesn't happen every day."

"Then we need to celebrate. We need to get some champagne or go dancing or have a party."

Jamie turned to continue putting his art away, though he didn't step out of Ben's arms. "Thanks, but I really don't want to go out."

Ben frowned and leaned over to rest his chin on Jamie's shoulder. "You haven't been going out much lately. Or at all." He rocked Jamie gently. He could feel Jamie's heart beating under his hand and it seemed to speed up as Ben held him.

"I've gone out with Daniel." He leaned back his head so he could rub his cheek against Ben's.

"How many times? Once? Twice?"

"We decided to just stay friends."

"Oh. And since then?"

Jamie shrugged. "I've been busy. I've been painting murals and making websites and decorating the flat."

"I know, I know--but I get up at four a.m. most days and I still manage to get to the clubs now and again."

"Yes, but you want to."

Ben slowly rubbed Jamie's chest and closed his eyes. "What happened to the plan, Jamie-lad?"

"There was a plan?" His voice dropped to a low whisper.

"There was a plan. It had to do with throwaway dates, remember? You finding a rebound guy?"

"Daniel was a very good rebound guy."

"Funny how you're still mopey and anti-social."

"Maybe you ought to do something about that." He tilted back his head to look at Ben. "Maybe you're the one to make me happy."

He hugged Jamie closer. "I don't want to be the one to make you happy. You can do that all by yourself, I promise."

"You just want to reap the rewards."

"Are you that good in bed?"

"I am fucking phenomenal," Jamie said in an insulted tone.

Ben chuckled and kissed his neck. "Let's go out tonight. Hit a few clubs. Find you a luscious young thing to take your mind off your troubles."

"You could take my mind off my troubles just fine."

"I know I could, but I'm not going to."

"Why?" Jamie turned finally and held onto Ben's biceps. "You said yourself it's just sex. So let's just have some sex, Ben. Why shouldn't we?"

Because you say my name in your sleep, and I don't know how I feel about that.

He just smiled and kissed Jamie's forehead. "Put on your dancing shoes. I'll come get you around ten."

"Fine," Jamie said with a sigh. "Ten's fine." He moved out of Ben's arms and picked up the drawings displayed on the couch.

Ben glanced at the drawings, and then picked one up. It was a charcoal sketch of a man lifting a box, his back muscles straining and his arms strong, and he glanced over his shoulder with a gleam in his eye and a smile on his lips.

"That's me," he said in surprise. "You drew me."

"Yeah--um--I drew that just after I moved in."

"Wow. It's--damn, I'm hot." He glanced at Jamie with an uncertain smile.

"Well, you didn't need me to tell you that, mate," Jamie muttered and took the sketch to put it in another portfolio.

"Wait--have you--um. Have you drawn me a lot?"

Jamie fidgeted with the zipper on the portfolio. "I wouldn't say a lot. A few times."

"It's not your usual style--it's not like the murals or the other paintings."

"I studied the masters some. This is you in Michelangelo style--focus on the musculature."

"Musculature," Ben repeated in a murmur.

"As you've just reminded me, you're pretty hot, Benjie."

"You needed a reminder?"

Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose, and Ben wondered if he really got headaches that easily or if it was just a mannerism. "I could actually do with fewer of them, since you won't let me touch you."

"Jamie…it's not about the touching itself, you know."

"I know. I understand. You don't fuck your friends. You can't be much clearer. I--I'd just rather you fuck me. I mean, don't you ever want to sleep with somebody you actually like?"

"I'd rather stay liking you. And you liking me. And--and we'll go dancing tonight and find you somebody to release your frustrations on."

"I'm not frustrated, Benjie! Except with you."

"I'm not changing my rules. Not even for you." He exhaled. "I'm gonna go. I'm in the way of your clean-up." He started out of the apartment and then paused in the doorway. "I told Tristan you'd be my date to the wedding."

"Perhaps you should have asked me first," Jamie said stiffly.

Ben stepped back into the apartment and slammed shut the door, making Jamie jump. He crossed the room in rapid strides and grabbed hold of Jamie, hesitating only a moment before he bent and claimed Jamie's mouth with his. Jamie made a muffled sound of protest and pushed at Ben's shoulders, wrapping his fingers in Ben's shirt. His lips parted and Ben thrust in his tongue, hands moving up from Jamie's shoulders to cup his face. He bent Jamie's head back to kiss him more deeply and slid one hand down Jamie's throat. Jamie made another muffled sound and finally pulled his mouth away, his fists still wrapped in Ben's shirt. Ben didn't move away, keeping their foreheads pressed together. "Should I have asked you about that, too?" Ben whispered and licked his dry lips.

"Yes." He leaned back his head and Ben stooped so he could run his lips up Jamie's throat.

"And this? Should I ask permission to do this?"

"Yes," Jamie breathed. He swallowed hard as Ben licked his neck and ran his teeth lightly along his shoulder. He tugged on Ben's shirt, pulling it out of his waistband so he could touch the skin beneath.

Ben wrapped his arms around him tighter and kissed him again, harder and deeper. Jamie's hands worked up under Ben's shirt, traced his spine. He pulled his mouth away again, but muttered in a low voice as he sucked on Ben's earlobe and Ben kissed his neck, "You can't--just--do what you want--not even--with me--"

Ben laughed. "Yes, I can."

"Hey." Jamie pushed him away, frowning. "I'm fucking serious, Ben. You can't just decide to jump on me."

"Yes, I can. I just did." He grinned down at Jamie. "And you can't tell me you didn't like it."

Jamie narrowed his eyes at him. "You are a cocky bastard."

"I know. It's part of my charm."

"You are coasting on charm right now, boyo." Someone knocked on the door and Jamie glanced at it, frowning. "Don't move," he said and headed for the door. Ben backed up against the wall to wait.

It was Micah.

Chapter Ten

"Hi, I brought your stuff," Micah said and held out a cardboard box containing comics and novels and t-shirts and jeans.

"Hi," Jamie said, unable to keep the amazement out of his voice. "How are you?"

Micah cleared his throat and muttered, "Fine," and held out the box again, a little more insistently. He glanced into the flat--and must have spotted Ben because his eyes narrowed and his face lost the uncertain softness it had been wearing. Jamie looked back at him too as Ben waved a cheerful hello. "I see you're doing fine, too," Micah said.

"Been better." He took the box and set it on the couch. "How's school?"

Micah was still watching Ben. "It's good. It's harder than I thought it would be." He finally tore his eyes from Ben to look around the flat. "Your place looks nice."