Chiaroscuro (9 page)

"Shiloh found her dress and the movie wasn't what I thought it was, so we left." She was looking around the flat, a smile fixed to her face. "Well. This place has potential."

"Yeah, I think so too," Jamie said. "A mural on that wall, for instance."

"Oh. A nice landscape? Micah's mentioned you're artistic."

"Usually my murals are more abstract than a 'nice landscape.'"

Mrs. Ferguson gave a tight, uncomfortable smile. "Micah said he might like to live with you if he goes to school here--tell him he should go to Stanford like his father and I, won't you, Mr. Makepeace? He belongs there."

"I think," Jamie said slowly, "that Micah's the one who decides where he belongs."

"Then he should decide he belongs at Stanford."

"I'm right here," Micah said. "I have ears."

"He should live on-campus, like any other freshman," Mrs. Ferguson went on blithely. "The dorms at Stanford are lovely, you know. Historical buildings. Not as old as what they have in Europe, of course, but old enough."

"Mom," Micah said.

Jamie crossed his arms over his chest. "I lived off-campus all the while I was in school--it didn't hurt my university experience any."

"Well, they do things differently in Europe." She smiled at Micah.

"Much differently," Jamie said wearily.

"Living here with you would be very bohemian, wouldn't it, darling? But it wouldn't be a suitable atmosphere for a student. You with your--art." She looked at the uppermost of the paintings stacked against the wall and wrinkled her nose. It was half done, just a torso and half a thigh--Jamie had no idea what Mrs. Ferguson might disapprove of.

"I like Jamie's art, Mom."

"Hm," she said vaguely. "Shiloh's waiting for us in the car; are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Micah said and pulled on the sneakers he'd abandoned earlier.

"Thanks for your help." Jamie shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from hugging him--no doubt Mrs. Ferguson would misinterpret that, or rather see it for exactly what it was. And he'd been looking forward so much to spending an hour or two entwined with Micah...

"Bye," Micah said, his expression as disappointed as Jamie felt, and he followed his mother out the door.

Jamie sighed, shut the door, and looked around his flat. That blue had to go.

There was another knock at the door and Jamie threw it open again, grinning. "I knew you--oh, hi."

"Oh, hi, yourself," Ben said, slouching in the doorway. "Are you all by your lonesome on your first night?"

"Yeah. Micah's mum picked him up already."

"Cradle-robber," Ben said without heat. "Are you going to ask me in?"

Jamie cocked his head a moment, then said, "Won't you please come in?" and bowed, sweeping out his arm.

"Thank you very much." He stepped into the apartment and looked around. "That blue's giving me a headache."

"Yeah. I'm thinking a nice, restful white. Um, if you don't mind my asking, what are you doing here?"

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Seeing how you're doing, of course." He laughed abruptly. "Didn't Dune tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I live here. Two floors down."

Jamie closed his eyes a moment and thought, Dune, you bastard. "No, he didn't tell me."

"That's how I know Dune--I'm friends with his dad. You've met his dad, haven't you?"

"Once or twice."

"He's great. He's a good guy. He'll probably help with painting if you ask."

"I don't know him well enough to ask."

"You will." He flopped onto the futon, laughing when it creaked. "Noisy. So." He laced his fingers together behind his head and looked at Jamie. "Now what?"

"I was just planning to put things away."

"Okay." He jumped to his feet again. "Any particular order to those books?"

"Um. Just by subject, I suppose. You don't need to help, though, you've done so much already."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged again, picking up a handful of books, and then peered at the bookcase. "This is tilting. Do you have a screwdriver?"

"Yeah, um--" He dug through a box marked Tools & Kitchen misc. and handed it to him. Ben set about tightening the bolts that held the bookcase together.

"The thing is," he went on conversationally, "is that I kind of like you."

"Oh," Jamie said. "Well, like I said, I'm in a relationship."

"A complicated one." He flashed a grin that Jamie was sure knocked most people off their feet.

"Yes. Complicated."

"You're sleeping with the kid, right?"

"His name is Micah."

"He still looks like jail bait."

"He'll be twenty in August." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is there some point to this?"

"Nope." He tried to wiggle the bookcase and smiled when it stayed firm. "Just curiosity, I suppose. You weren't dating him a month ago."

"No, I wasn't. It's a recent development. And he's--he's still not out yet."

Ben looked at him sympathetically and picked up the bookcase. "Is this where you want it?"

"I'd like it back in this corner, I think. So, you do remember me from the wedding."

"You're kind of unforgettable."

"Oh," Jamie said softly. "Thanks."

"It's not every day I meet short Englishmen who are fantastic kissers."

"Oi, I'm not short--I'm just--" Well, short was as good a word as any, he supposed.

"Good things come in small packages," said Ben with a look that was decidedly cheeky. "So you and him, it's serious?"

"I think so." He picked up a box of books and brought it to the bookcase.

"Too bad. I've been thinking a lot about you."

"I'm sure a bloke like you has no trouble finding a date on a Saturday night."

"True," Ben said easily, "but this particular Saturday night I'm helping you move in. Are you sure you don't wanna--just out of curiosity?"

Jamie looked at him--looked at his mouth, his mobile, smiling, delicious mouth. "Sorry," he said, not without regret. "But I love him."

"Oh," Ben said, all traces of smirk vanishing. "That's different. My sympathies, dude."

"Sympathies? Why?"

"In love with a kid who's still under the whims of his parents and hasn't come out yet? That can't be fun."

"I'm managing."

"You still have my sympathies."

"Look, whatever you're thinking, it's not like that. We're working on it. He's going to move in with me in the fall."

"Yeah? So do you want me to leave room for his stuff on the shelves?"

Jamie started to say yes, then sighed. "No. We'll take care of it when he moves in. Thanks, though."

Ben shrugged and looked at the spines of the books he was holding to start shelving them. "You've got the weirdest book collection I've ever seen. Art books and programming books? What the hell do you do for a living?"

"I'm in graphic design. Websites and--well, at my last job, at a video game company, I did box design and monster design and at the beginning, the company newsletter. My degree's in Fine Arts, though. I have two A levels in art." He started shelving books himself. He supposed it was a strange juxtaposition, the two sides of his interests, but he liked to think of it as well-rounded. Both halves of his brain functioned and worked well together, than you very much.

"What's an A level?"

"Like your bachelor's degree."

"Oh. Is it weird, living in a foreign country?"

"No--it's not weird. Americans like the English, most of them."

"It's the accent." He flashed a grin at Jamie. "We tend to find it charming."

"I am charming," Jamie said airily. "It has very little to do with the accent."

"It doesn't hurt, though." They were standing close in front of the bookcase, Jamie's back to the wall, and he wasn't surprised at all when Ben leaned his hand against the wall and pressed himself closer to Jamie. He was a big man, taller than Jamie by half a foot or so, broad shoulders tapering to a neat waist and slim hips, and Jamie dropped the books he was holding to put his hands on that waist so he could arch up. Ben kissed him, inhaling through his nose, and while he didn't touch Jamie with anything more than his lips and tongue it seemed to Jamie that his body was on fire.

His conscience perked after just a moment: this man was not Micah, was nothing like Micah, was just an available fuck. He pulled away and then moved away, saying, "Sorry. I am sorry. I don't mean to give you the wrong idea. You're very--but I'm--"

"You're in love," Ben said.

"Yeah."

"All right. Well." Ben sighed. "I think I should go. I wanted to help--honest, that's all I came up to do--but--"

"I'm charming," Jamie said with a ghost of a smile.

"Very. Extremely. I do like you, Jamie," he added after a moment. "So if you ever--I dunno--need to borrow a cup of sugar, I'm in 319."

"Thanks," Jamie said.

Ben paused at the front door, his hand on the knob, "And hey. If the kid gives you any trouble, feel free to come find me."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jamie said, smiling despite himself, and closed the door when Ben was gone.

He could finish the unpacking tomorrow--he had plenty of time, after all. He opened the box marked Sketchbooks & Notebooks and took out one of his larger ones and a box of dark pencils. He sat on the floor in the sun room--or moon room now, he supposed with a smile--and opened the sketchbook to a blank page.

Instead of the slender, boyish body he'd been drawing all month, though, he sketched out a longer body, a broader one, with strong arms and endless legs and a mouth that quirked in an I-know-something-you-don't smile.

He looked at the finished drawing, hours later, and thought, That's really good.

I am in so much trouble.

Chapter Five

Ben helped Jamie paint the apartment walls with primer a weekend after he moved in--it was practically a party, with Dune and Leo and Micah and even Ben's brother, Gabe--but when he offered to help with the actual painting Jamie said he was taking care of it. There wasn't much time to visit him during the week: Ben went to bed early to be at the bakery by six am, and Jamie was usually out by the time he got home. If he did see Jamie he was often in a suit, scrubbed and polished, on his way to meet a client for his new business, and there was never time for more than a hello and a quick hug.

"Stop by and see him," Dune said to him when he came to the bakery for bagels. "I bet he'd love the company."

"He's never home when I am," Ben said.

"He'll be home tonight--Micah's got some family thing. He could use some cheering him up."

Ben raised his eyebrows at him. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were to get me to distract him."

"Who, me?" Dune smiled like a fallen angel and paid for his bagels. "See you, Benjie."

Fine, Ben thought, I'm convinced. After he got home and cleaned up from the bakery he took the stairs up to Jamie's apartment and knocked on the door. There was a clatter from inside, and after a brief delay Jamie opened the door. "Hey!" he said, pleased. "Long time since you've been around."

"You're never home when I'm awake anymore," Ben said. "I hear your paint job is--" He looked inside the apartment and fell silent.

Jamie grinned and grabbed his hand to pull him inside. "It's coming along pretty nice, don't you think?"

Ben nodded. Jamie had painted the first wall inside the apartment to look like a window that opened to the sun room, with a view of nodding flowers and curvaceous sculptures outside. He had painted the other walls a friendly, calm green. He had a row of computers set up against one wall and a stack of stretched canvases propped against another. Ben looked through them, unsurprised to see nudes of both men and women; portraits of compelling if unbeautiful faces; still lifes; paintings of San Francisco at various seasons and times of day. All were in a distinctive vivacious style, as if they were bursting with life and joy.

On the walls, Jamie had hung framed prints of things like Picasso's Don Quixote hung next to Duehrer's praying hands. In his bookcases, stacks of sketch pads rested beside shelves of programming books. On the counters and end tables were hand-thrown pots painted bright colors, many with stripes or polka dots, which held paint brushes or kitchen utensils. Here and there were shoe boxes full of floppy disks, heavily carved end tables with a vaguely Asian air, and electronics Ben could only imagine the purpose of. On the end of one desk was a brass statue of an elephant god next to a large blue Magic 8 ball and a stack of pulp novels, their lurid covers carefully cut off and piled beside them.

"I don't remember you having this much furniture," he said after he'd taken it all in.

"I went shopping. All this cost me about two hundred dollars. I love Haight-Ashbury, don't you? Come see the bedroom--I'm most proud of this." He pulled Ben along and had him lie down, and lay down beside him.

Ben smiled as he looked at the ceiling. Jamie had painted it like a fantasy night sky: stars and swirling galaxies, a cheerful moon beside the light and a zodiac dancing around the top of the walls. "It's supposed to look like something out of an old book," Jamie said. "What do you think?"

"I love it. It's like a kid's room, only not."

"My room as a kid wasn't half this interesting. I've been wanting to do this for ages--always meant to at the house but I never had time."

"It looks great. Dune said you were an artist but I thought--I don't know what I thought. I didn't think you could paint like this."

"Most people don't," Jamie said. "I'm not--you know--Wyeth, like, but I do all right."

"Who?"

"Andrew Wyeth. Painter."

"I don't know much about art."

Jamie got up and went into the front room, and came back with a large art book. He flipped through it and handed it to Ben. "This is called 'Christina's World.'"

"Pretty," Ben said, though pretty wasn't quite the right word. A long-haired girl was pulling herself along in a field, her back and arms strong, her legs useless behind her. It was touching. Beautiful. Sad.

"That's Wyeth."

"Your painting's not like his, though."