Chiaroscuro (33 page)

When he stopped talking Dune was silent for a long time. Finally he said, "Wow."

"Yeah," Ben said and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Benjie... I love you, man, but you're an idiot."

Ben looked at him, resting his arms on his thighs, and waited.

"And I don't know who I feel worse for, Ian or Jamie. And I haven't even met Ian."

"Ian's a good guy," Ben muttered. "Cute. Smart, too. And talented."

"And Jamie's the guy you've been sleeping with for months and who's crazy about you."

"I know." He rubbed his face restlessly. "But everybody thinks we're this permanent thing and we're not--we both agreed to date other people if the chance came up. I know he's had dates--I know he's hooked up."

"Not much," said Dune. "Not since before Christmas."

"Oh," Ben said.

Dune patted Ben's leg soothingly. "And he turned me down because he doesn't really want anybody else."

"Oh," Ben said, even more softly.

"Look. Nobody's trying to force you two together or anything like that. It's just, when it's right, everyone can see it."

"When what's right?" Ben said sulkily, though he supposed he knew exactly what Dune meant.

Dune whacked him lightly on the back of his head. "Love, dork."

"Ow!" though it really didn't hurt. "Damn it, I'm not in love with Jamie!"

Dune sighed and stood, dusting off his trousers. "If you say so. But I think how devastated you were a little while ago says otherwise. See you inside." He went into the gallery.

"I wasn't devastated," Ben muttered. "I just--" Felt like someone had ripped out his heart from his chest, felt like all the lights everywhere had gone out forever, felt like….like he'd lost his best friend.

He had to talk to Jamie. He didn't know what he'd say, but he'd start with the truth and go from there.

Ben went back into the gallery. The party was quiet and Simon was speaking, talking about his pride in Jamie's talent and how delighted he'd been to find this young artist at the beginning of his career. Simon called him James, which Ben found strange--no one ever called him James, and Ben hardly thought of it as Jamie's name.

Jamie stood at Simon's side, watching him with a faint smile. The smile grew bigger--and a bit rueful, Ben thought--when Simon called him the most promising artist of his age, and he looked humble and pleased when everyone applauded.

"Thank you," Jamie said, "thank you so much, everyone. I've been dreaming about this since I was very young. Who knew I'd have to move to a new country to finally get it?" There were chuckles at this. "But I love my new country and my new city, and everyone and everything you see represented here is very dear to me." His face dimmed a little at this. He finished simply: "Thank you so much for your support. Enjoy the champagne," and turned to Dune, who was standing nearby. Dune wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his forehead, talking to him seriously as the party started up again. Jamie nodded as he listened, but didn't seem to say much.

Ben bit his lip, wondering if he should just walk up or wait until Dune was done--defending him, Ben hoped, or maybe even explaining what Ben had told him. He took a glass of champagne from an offered tray and turned away, trying to think.

There was yet another newcomer in the crowd, a man with a profile like a Roman coin and a bearing so regal that he left a reverent pause in his wake. His eyes searched the crowd, and he found who he was searching for quickly: he walked straight up to Jamie and wrapped his arms around him from behind.

Jamie turned, startled--and then held onto the man and buried his head in his chest.

Someone touched Ben's arm--he looked down and smiled with relief to see Tristan. "Hi," he said and hugged her.

"Hi. You look terrible."

"It's been a very strange night," Ben said with a sigh, and shook Laird's hand. "Hey. Glad to see you home."

"I need to be home more often, I know," Laird said, nodding. "Who's that with Jamie?"

"Is that his father?" Tristan said.

"I don't think so." The newcomer was talking to Simon, both of them smiling like old friends, and Jamie was tucked up against him with his eyes closed. Ben started to put his arm around Tristan--but Laird's arm was already there. Ben sighed. Not even Tristan to lean on. "Have you looked at the pictures yet?"

"Just a quick glance--we wanted to say hello to Jamie. It looks like he's busy, though."

"Go on ahead," Ben said. "He's been a really good host all night."

Tristan studied him, eyebrows drawn, and then kissed his cheek and took Laird's hand. "Talk to you later, okay?" She pulled Laird along to greet Jamie.

Dune was the next to join him, taking his glass and drinking down the champagne. "So who's that guy?" Ben said.

"That," Dune said, looking around for another waiter, "is Stuart."

"No shit," Ben said. "The guy I'm not supposed to ask about?"

"Yeah. I never thought I'd see him in person--but he's friends with Simon, who knew?"

"Small world," Ben muttered. "So who is he?"

Dune laughed dryly. "He's Prince Charming. He put Jamie through college and took him to France to study the greats and did--well, everything, I guess. And then they broke up. I'm not entirely sure why."

"Really," Ben said. Jamie was talking to Tristan now, smiling, still tucked under Stuart's arm. "They seem to have made up."

Dune looked at him a moment, and then said, "You are just dying right now, aren't you?"

"Shut up," said Ben. "Have you seen Ian? I think I've had enough of this."

"Yeah, he's talking to Micah."

Ben had started to head off, but paused at this. "Micah? Micah's here, too?"

"I brought him," Dune said mildly.

Ben sighed. "Whip me and rub salt into my wounds, Dunie."

"I'll bring the handcuffs," said Dune and took another glass of champagne.

***

Ben sat on the bench in front of the angel painting, wishing he were anywhere but here, when Micah sat down beside him. The kid had cleaned up a lot since the last time Ben had seen him--he almost looked like an adult, though there still was a little baby fat around the edges. "Hello," Micah said cheerfully.

"Hello."

"So have you met Stuart? He's charming. Of course, most British people are."

Ben looked at his glass and wondered how many he'd had. "And this brings the grand total of British people you know up to two."

"I think it's a reasonable sampling." Micah paused a moment. "Jamie's going to go home with Stuart."

"Really," Ben muttered.

"Yeah. They were just talking about it. Well, Stuart was asking him to come home. I suppose he'll go. It'll be like returning in triumph, don't you think? Kicked out, sent away, and then coming home famous and successful."

But this is his home, Ben thought. He just said so tonight. This is his city.

He said, "Is that a fact?"

"You're awfully mopey."

"I've had a bad night."

"It must be terrible, everyone saying how gorgeous you are. That's all I've heard all night. 'That beautiful model,'" he mocked. "'So strong, so tall, so handsome.'" He snorted.

"Jealous?"

Micah stiffened and Ben smiled to himself. "Don't be dumb," Micah said. "Jamie hardly drew me, anyway. We were too busy doing other things."

"Right."

Micah's jaw clenched. "So are you going to miss Jamie at all?" he said tightly. "Or are you just going to be glad to be rid of him? I'm sure there's lots of other people's boyfriends you can fuck."

Ben raised his head at last and looked at the boy. "I think it's time you stop talking to me now," he said evenly.

"I'm not afraid of you." Micah lifted his chin--and braced himself as if he expected Ben to take a swing at him.

Ben laughed dryly and sipped from his glass, remembering at the last moment that he'd already drained it. "Where's a fucking waiter?" he muttered, looking around.

Micah didn't say anything for a moment, his fingers digging into his knees, and then he stood. "You can't be self-righteous at me anymore, you know. People like to tell me how badly I broke Jamie's heart but if you want to know the truth I think this is worse. You're supposed to know what you're doing. I guess nobody does, no matter how old they are." He walked away.

Ben didn't turn to look, and wondered if he was right. He rubbed his forehead a moment, then got to his feet and looked around for Ian, for Dune, for any friendly face.

What he saw was Jamie talking to Vijay and Moira, while Stuart gazed down at him with pride and his hand slowly rubbed Jamie's back. It was a possessive gesture, one that Ben remembered making himself a few times, but Jamie didn't seem to mind. He certainly looked happier than he'd been with Ben.

Ben looked around for Ian, and spotted him with Dune and Daniel. He crossed the room to join them, and while they all smiled no one offered a shoulder or a hand. "I'm ready to go," he said to Ian.

"How much champagne have you had?" Ian said in a serious tone.

"I don't know. A lot. But I'm ready to go."

Ian studied him, then held out his hand. "Car keys."

Ben sighed and handed them over.  "If you insist, but I don't get drunk on champagne."

"Are you going to need help with him?" Dune said.

"No, I can handle him." Ian took Ben's arm and guided him out of the gallery.

They didn't talk until they reached the car, and Ian put him in the passenger seat. "I hate to think I'm somebody who needs to be handled," Ben said finally.

"Where do you live?" Ian said.

"Bernal Heights," Ben said with a sigh.

Ian pulled out into the street, calmly negotiating the heavy Saturday-night traffic. "It's not so much that you need to be handled," he said. "But I certainly don't think anybody would trust you behind the wheel tonight, even if you hadn't been drinking."

Ben stared out the window. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah. It is."

They inched through traffic for a few minutes more. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"You didn't mean to get caught," Ian said.

"Jamie and I aren't boyfriends--this wasn't cheating."

Ian signaled a turn and tapped his foot along to the clicker. "I suppose not technically, no."

Ben winced, still looking out the window. "I'm no good at dating."

Ian glanced at him. "No kidding."

"Thank you," Ben said wearily and leaned back his head, closing his eyes. After a few minutes he opened them again. "So do you want to stay the night?"

Ian's answering look was withering. "I don't think so."

"Okay," Ben muttered and looked out the window again.

***

Ian took Ben home and left, refusing any offers to find someone to drive him home. Ben wondered if he'd even see Ian around the bakery after this--he hoped so. People liked his music so much.

But the worst part of the whole night, Ben thought as he undressed, wasn't that he was alone--it was that Jamie wasn't with him, that they wouldn't talk over the evening and marvel at all the people who had come. He wouldn't hear about how many paintings had sold and everything that had happened, everything.

Instead, Jamie would probably be leaving with Stuart. Not just leaving for the night--for good, going back to England to be a triumph there, as Micah had said. Jamie would go back to where he belonged, with whom he belonged, that man who appeared to adore him and could do anything for him, grant any wish.

It's good for Jamie, Ben thought. It's what's right--his life, his career... what can I do for him?

Nothing, he thought and crawled under the sheets. Nothing at all.

And the next time he saw Jamie--if he saw Jamie--no doubt Jamie would be aglow with happiness and good sex, everything falling into place for him. Jamie's life would be perfect and his own would be--

Dreary. Dark. Dull.

He looked up at his ceiling, the lush and vibrant garden, the strong lovers embracing. He wondered if the next inhabitant of this apartment would paint over the mural or keep it, knowing it was a James Makepeace original, and if they would care that Jamie had painted this happy scene for a friend.

Chapter Sixteen

Jamie had daydreamed about Stuart walking back into his life many times. Of course, in his imagination he'd always been deaf to any pleas Stuart might make, he'd rebuffed any advances, he'd been strong enough to say, "I don't need you anymore."

So what happened the moment he actually saw Stuart? He'd thrown himself into Stuart's arms and thought, It's all right now. Stuart's here.

He blamed Ben.

The night had been a success in every way imaginable, at least. Simon was certain everyone he'd invited had come, and many of them left with paintings or sketches or sculptures. Jamie had reserved quite a few items that he meant to give as gifts or that he wanted to keep, including the angel picture--but as he stood in front of it he was tempted to spray-paint "For Sale--Deep Discount" on it and get the thing out of his sight forever.

It wasn't Ian's fault. He'd liked Ian well enough. It was just Ben, stupid fucking Ben, and stupid him for thinking Ben was going to change his ways just for a little Englishman who liked to paint him.

I should have known better, he thought. I should have known from the beginning it would all go balls-up the moment I believed I would be happy.

The party was winding down. Most of his friends had left--Dune had pulled him aside to whisper that Ian was taking Ben home, and then asked, running a gentle hand over Jamie's hair, "Do you want me to stop by later?"

"I'll be okay," Jamie had said, but held onto Dune extra tight when he hugged him goodbye.

Simon joined him in front of the angel picture, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't see as much of him as I thought I would."

"Neither did I." He forced a smile. "It doesn't matter."

Simon looked like he didn't believe him, but only said, "And then Stuart showing up. I thought he might when I mentioned you the last time we spoke. You left out a few things about your early career, Jamie."

"There's a reason for every omission."