Chiaroscuro (6 page)

"Because they've been through it themselves," Jamie said quietly.

"Exactly. What did yours do? You never talk about that. Were they cool with it?"

"No." Jamie smiled tightly. "Which is why I never talk about it. Do you want the last California roll?"

"No, you can have it." He tapped his chopsticks against his chin, still thoughtful. "I don't suppose Micah would appreciate some help in that area."

"I wouldn't, either. Not a soul, Bellamy."

Dune sighed. "All right. Not a soul. But the longer he puts it off the harder it's going to be. You start living a lie and suddenly you're living half a dozen more."

Jamie nodded and sighed. He knew it--he knew it from experience--and also he knew that living his life openly and without apologies was the wisest decision he'd ever made.

He wanted that for Micah--for him to face the world and say, "This is who I am. Deal with it." This week had been so good for him--Micah was happy, truly happy, and Jamie loved knowing he was the one who was making him so.

In time. He hoped. In time.

***

When Jamie got back to the Virtuoso building, none of his coworkers were at their desks. Instead they clustered in small, chattering groups in the halls and by the elevator bank. He said hello to the security guards and people he knew as he passed--and there were many, he'd been with Virtuoso since the beginning--but didn't stop until he reached the art department. He took off his satchel and paused a moment to look around his office--five years' worth of toys, clay models, sketches, photos, notes, books.

As the head of the art department, he knew, he might be the only one with job security. Or he might be the first one fired so they could hire someone fresh out of school that they could pay less.

He sighed and hung up his jacket as Aidan rapped on his door. "Hey, boss. Did you hear?"

"Haven't heard a thing--I just got back from lunch. What's going on?"

"The board met this morning. They've called a company-wide meeting at one-thirty in the main conference room."

Jamie nodded slowly. He'd need a box just for his plants..."This is it, then."

"I hope so--I'm sick of just waiting." He started to step away, then added, "Your fan club's here," as Micah walked up to Jamie's office.

Jamie grinned and turned his face away a moment to keep it from being too obvious. "Hey, Aidan," Micah said, and the other man mussed his hair.

"Hey, Squirt. See you guys at the meeting." He ambled off, and Micah stepped into Jamie's office, shaking his head with an annoyed expression.

"I hate it when he does that."

"You probably won't have to put up with it after today," Jamie said, perching on the stool in front of his drafting board. "I suppose you know about the meeting."

Micah nodded. "Sit with me?"

"Sure." He added in an even lower tone, "Shut the door."

Micah licked his lips and glanced at him, and then shut the office door. He turned back to Jamie. "Next?"

"C'mere."

Micah crossed the office and stood in front of him, hands on his hips. "The meeting's in half an hour."

"I'll just look at you, then." He smiled at Micah, trying to look like he didn't have anything devious planned. Which he didn't, but it was fun to let Micah think so.

Micah scowled, stood still for a moment, and then leaned forward and put his hands on the stool, his mouth a breath away from Jamie's. "We could always make out," he whispered, eyes darting all over Jamie's face.

"That's true." He kissed the tip of Micah's nose, opening his knees so Micah could stand between his legs, and slipped his fingertips into the back pockets of Micah's jeans. "Do you wanna kiss me?"

"Very much," Micah whispered. He licked his lips again and kissed Jamie, not touching him anywhere but his mouth. "I wish I could do more to you."

"Come home with me tonight, then. I'll let you do anything you like."

"I can't--my parents are home tonight."

"Oh," Jamie said, disappointed. "I'd forgotten they're back." He kneaded Micah's ass through his jeans. "I guess begging for one more night is out of the question."

"They'll want to know why." He shivered and put his arms around Jamie's neck.

"You could move out, you know."

He rolled his eyes. "They want me to save for college."

"I'm sure you have enough to pay for an entire degree by now. Although," he added in a drawl, "if you go to one of the schools here in the city you could move in with me and tell them it's to save money. And I'll look after you in the big...bad...city." He licked the side of Micah's neck.

"Maybe," Micah said in a doubtful tone. He closed his eyes and hummed with happiness as Jamie kissed him. "Mm, Jamie--I wish we could do it here."

Jamie pulled Micah closer. "Who says we can't?"

"With all these people around? Are you crazy?"

Jamie looked to the right. Looked to the left. "I hadn't noticed it was so crowded in here."

"You know what I mean. Anybody could come through that door. Anybody could--" He sighed and stepped out of Jamie's arms, pulling down his shirt where Jamie had hiked it up. "We should head down to the conference room."

Jamie puzzled at him and scratched his beard. "Micah, everybody here knows I'm gay. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, but--oh God." He buried his face in his hands.

There was a pause. "Yeah." Jamie got off the stool. "Time for the meeting. All the good seats will be gone."

"Jamie--" Micah stopped him, hands on his chest. "Jamie. Please. I'm sorry. I--this is all new. You know that it is. And it's scary and--and--"

Jamie sighed and placed his hands on top of Micah's. "I know. I know it is. I'm sorry--I forget sometimes how scary it is." He squeezed Micah's hands and removed them from his chest. "We've got jobs to lose. Come on."

***

For the first time in the history of Virtuoso Games, there was no applause when the CEO stepped onto the stage. He looked hurt at this, and for a moment Jamie almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

The speech was brief. Worthless stock. Games not selling. You're all brilliant, but clear out your desks by five.

Without allowing time for questions, he escaped, back behind the bright blue curtains that framed the stage. The big conference room that had always rung with laughter and fun was silent.

Everyone burst into talk at once--how, why, when? What now? Now what do we do?

"Now what?" Micah whispered to Jamie, and Aidan and the rest of the art department looked to him as if to ask the same thing.

He wondered when he had become the authority figure. "We pack." He almost reached for Micah's cheek to give him a caress, but gave his chin a tweak instead. "Don't panic. C'mon, kids, let's go clean up. It's a party. It's a So Long And Fuck You party. C'mon."

They trooped after him up the aisle, making Jamie feel like the Pied Piper. So hell, why not: he started singing a Manchester United song--"Who ate all the pies? Who ate all the pies?"--which none of them knew but they all picked up quickly. They sang as they rode up in the elevator and went down the hall to the art department. There was beer and champagne in the break room fridge--Jamie broke it out, passed it around, and turned up the department stereo to "I Will Survive."

Micah had to leave them to pack up his own desk but came back soon--he hadn't been there long enough to collect as much memorabilia. His messenger bag stuffed with belongings, he walked through the desks, ducking away from the stuffed animals and paper airplanes and wadded up sketches that were flying across the aisles.

"Micah!" Jamie threw his arms around him. "You're back. My fan club's back, everyone. No booze, though, still too young."

Someone gave Micah a beer anyway, which he took but didn't sip. "Jamie," he said, trying to keep eye contact as Jamie wove a little, arm still around his neck. "Jamie, you're drunk."

"This is not drunk," Jamie said, laughing. "This is buzzed, young son. I can still drive you home. And then when we get there--"

"We're arranging all your plants," Micah said, his eyes growing wide.

"Yes. Arranging my plants. I have lots of plants that need to be arranged." He leaned their foreheads together. "You can arrange my plants all you want, wee Micah."

"We need to do your office," Micah said.

"Do my office? Do what in my office? Arrange my plants?" He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "All night long?"

Micah sighed. "Help?" Aidan came over and undraped Jamie from Micah's shoulders, patting his cheek.

"Can you drive him, Squirt?"

Micah rolled his eyes but said, "Yeah. No problem. But he's got all this stuff in his office--he's got more there than in his house."

Aidan waved a hand. "We'll do it. I'll bring the boxes by tomorrow or something--I've been to his place. Do you know the way?"

"I'm not drunk," Jamie said, draping himself over Micah again. "I'm not too drunk for plant arranging."

"I know the way," Micah said, and one of the others brought him Jamie's satchel. It took Micah a few moments to find the car keys, and while he looked Jamie hung onto him, nose pressed against his neck.

"Are you my fan club?" he said against Micah's skin. "Are you my fan, Micah?"

"I'm your fan." He started walking towards the elevators, arm around Jamie's waist. "I'm your biggest fan, Jamie."

"Yes, you are. My biggest fan. My plant-arranging fan."

Micah leaned him against the elevator wall and punched the button. "How many beers did you have?"

"Three," Jamie said decisively. "Four? Maybe five. Definitely six."

"In two hours? Oh, Jamie."

"Oh, Jamie, oh, Jamie," he imitated him. "Say that flat on your back with your ankles around my neck and I'll believe you."

"Jamie!"

"They don't bug the elevators. I wish they did. Phil needs to see my ass. Kiss it goodbye, baby. I was the best art director this company ever had."

"You were the only art director this company ever had." The elevator slid to a stop and Micah directed him out to the parking lot.

"Damn right. The best. Only. Moved five thousand fucking miles for this job. Five. Thousand. Miles." Micah unlocked his car and put him into the passenger seat, and Jamie pulled on the seat belt. "It's not working."

"Just a minute." He came around the other side, got into the driver seat and clicked shut Jamie's seat belt. He smelled good. Sweet. Jamie kissed the back of his head and Micah nearly clipped his nose when his head jerked. "Jesus, Jamie!"

"Sorry," Jamie muttered and leaned back, watching Micah start up the car. "I thought you didn't now how to drive."

"I know how. I just don't like to. Especially in the city." The car lurched a little and Micah smiled in embarrassment. "And I don't get a whole lot of practice."

"Go with the right, stop with the left."

Micah pulled out of the parking lot and very, very carefully onto the highway. Jamie watched him, focusing on the faint stubble on his cheeks, the curls of his ear, the way he bit his lip when he was concentrating.

"Micah," he said and reached across the seats to stroke his neck.

"I'm listening, Jamie."

"I love you," Jamie said.

Micah didn't say anything for a moment, looking over his shoulder to change lanes. "You're drunk."

"Buzzed, and I still love you. My biggest fan and personal plant-arranger."

Micah smiled, looking like he was trying to hide it. "We'll talk about this when you're sober."

"Dune thinks you're just a fantasy, but how could I love something that's not real? So you have to be real, because I love you." He pulled off one of his rings and leaned over to hold it in Micah's field of vision.

"C'mon, I'm driving, here."

"Wanna wear this?"

"Not right this very second."

Jamie pouted and put the ring back on his finger. "It's a perfectly good ring. I got it at a store in Haight-Ashbury. It's real silver. The words mean--something. I forget what. Something about love."

Micah's expression softened. "Something about love?"

"Something like 'I am my beloved's,' only in Gaelic."

"Jamie. You're a romantic."

He looked at his rings and wiggled his fingers. "Nah. I just like silver."

Micah took Jamie's exit and drove the quiet streets to Jamie's house. "Almost home."

"Not for long," Jamie said gloomily. "Can't keep it without a job. Can't pay the mortgage."

"You'll be okay, Jamie."

"Promise?"

He pulled the car into the drive and turned off the engine. He turned to face Jamie, leaned over and kissed him. "I promise."

***

Ben leaned against the counter, bored. He didn't mind working the register--he'd been doing it since he was twelve, whenever his parents could pry him away from the wonderland that was the kitchen--but it was a slow Saturday morning and he wanted something more to do than wait for customers.

No weddings today, and this made him even more restless. The Gallagher & Sons Bakery had been around since the Gold Rush, so he wasn't worried about their reputation in general--but his as a wedding cake artist, that was something he didn't know how to build. He got referrals from brides who'd used him, but not enough to keep him busy every week.

And he'd much rather be doing a wedding cake than reconciling the till and keeping an eye on the number of muffins they had on display.

He sighed, picked up the notepad beside the register and started sketching a very basic wedding cake: three tiers, flowers on top, lacy decorations on the sides. Only, what if the frosting was chocolate instead of white? And what if the flowers were something bright like tiger lilies? Would any bride be brave enough for this kind of cake?

He sighed again, crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trash--and then grinned as the bell rang to signify new customers, and he saw that one of them was Dune. He was with two other men, one who looked barely out of his teens, and another who didn't take off his sunglasses even after he was inside and was moving gingerly as if every step hurt.

Hung over, Ben guessed. Poor guy.

"Ben!" Dune said cheerfully. "My dad said I had to try your place so here we are. What's good this morning?"