Room For One

Room For One

T
OBY
was used to housemates. He’d railed against renting out his spare bedrooms at first, but five years after the fact, he could barely imagine living in an empty house. Some people were better roomies than others—a few had lasted a couple of years, while some he kicked out within a month. It was the hazard anyone who rented rooms faced, but on the whole, Toby had lucked out, and he knew it.

Still, it did not lend him to being generous to musicians.

“No.”

“Toby, I swear, he has a steady job!” Steff whined, walking behind Toby in the kitchen like they were in a conga line.

“No.”

“Seriously! He’s worked at the cable company for, like, years!”

“No! No no no! Last time I had a musician tenant, I got stiffed not only for rent, but for the tickets for breaking the noise ordinance!”

“David isn’t like that.” Steff pouted, and she was cute when she pouted—everyone agreed on that—but Toby was not giving up the fight.

“What, are you fucking him? What?”

Steff smacked his shoulder. “No! I’m still steady with James. This is a friend of his.”

“His
musician
friend,” Toby snarled, stirring his soup. It was still lukewarm, so he shoved it back into the microwave.

“I sometimes wonder if your ex was a musician,” Steff grumbled and leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the floor.

Toby carefully did not answer. His tenants as well as his friends knew he was essentially divorced from his ex, Alan, and that Toby had bought him out of his half of the house, but he could not really afford it at the time so took in boarders to cover the mortgage note. They all knew that, but only his closest inner circle knew what a brutal bastard Alan was. Alan had left town pretty quickly after the breakup and was unlamented by everyone who knew him. There were people in town who remembered Toby and Alan as a couple, but they were usually smart enough not to bring it up. Toby’s own support network of friends who knew the whole truth consisted of his sister Mary, who lived across town, and a few other people scattered across the country. He preferred it that way.

“Could you at least consider it? If you don’t have anyone else lined up?” Steff finally sighed in defeat.

“The ad just went on craigslist yesterday. If I don’t have anyone in a week, I’ll talk to your musician.”

“He’s not
my
musician…” Steff grumbled as she shuffled out of the kitchen.

T
OBY
cursed the economy that let people rent three bedroom houses for little more than he was charging for a room. The only difference was that he included all utilities in the price, and did not require tenants to sign a lease. He liked the freedom to kick people out once they proved problematic, and his tenants liked being able to leave without any penalties once their situation improved.

He was lucky that his photography career had taken off. Giving up ever making a name for himself in the fine art world, he turned at first to catalog work, then made a name in erotic/fetish photography. It was to the point where watching two outrageously gorgeous people tie each other up and fuck like bunnies was nothing more than a working day to him, but the money was really, really good; because while everyone had a webcam, few people had the right lighting. In the course of five years he paid off the debts Alan left him with and had more than enough coming in to cover the mortgage and bills. At this point, tenants were almost a luxury item, and he usually ended up renting to people he wanted to help out just because he could.

Alan spent years isolating Toby from everyone and everything he loved other than photography, so now Toby wallowed in having an extended network of tenants and former tenants, some of whom were almost like family to him. People in the house meant he was not alone anymore; people in the house meant he was safe.

There were rare bumps in finding tenants, though, and this was one of them: everyone seemed to be settled down, the apartment complexes near the university were offering killer deals for the summer, and Toby could not get a respectable bite off of craigslist to save his life. So, he was back to Steff’s friend-of-her-boyfriend musician guy, David VonHeffan or VonHorken or Von-H-something.

“So, you’ve got a steady job and references.” He looked at the information form he’d had David fill out. The guy nodded enthusiastically in answer. He was medium build and pretty, with soft broad lips and gorgeous, deadly blue eyes, and a tuft of wild hair cut short on top. Toby guessed he was in his late twenties, which put him about five years younger than him. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a hoodie, though, making him appear younger.

“Why do you need this room?” Toby put the paper down on the couch next to him and watched David shift uncomfortably in the lounge chair across from him.

“Well you know I’m in a band? Or was. Am?” He waved a hand around uncertainly, and Toby tried not to be distracted by his long, elegant fingers. They were almost feminine. “We were all renting a house, but not really. Jason—our bass player—was renting it, and we were roomies… and then things kind of blew up with his girlfriend, and we all got kicked out. I’ve, uh, been couch surfing for the last two weeks.”

Toby imagined he did not lack for offers to share a bed, either, but instead of saying so just smirked. David picked up on it, though, grimacing and running a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more.

“Yeah, yeah, I could, you know, work that for a while. But I need my own space. I don’t just play, I write the songs for the band. I need privacy to do that.”

“You lost your bass player, though, right?”

“Sure, but we’ll get a new one.” He stopped and studied Toby with his fierce eyes. “Look, what else do you need to know? For me to get the room?”

Toby sighed. It had been a foregone conclusion from the start that, short of revealing himself as a serial killer or jobless, David was getting the room. “You know the deal? No lease, no harm no foul for getting kicked out or leaving without notice. Rent amount non-negotiable, includes utilities and internet access, and you are expected to clean up after yourself. Parties are okay with a week’s notice to Steff and me. And your guitar better have headphones. I don’t want to hear it.”

“So no band practice in the garage?” David frowned, obviously hoping that he could negotiate it.

“The garage is my photography studio. No entry.”

David sighed and looked at the coffee table for a minute. “Frank’s got space for band practice. I was just hoping for something less of a drive. But okay. I need a place short-term, so yeah. Deal.”

“How short-term were you thinking?”

“Four months? Is that okay?”

Toby nodded. That might work out perfectly—David would be leaving right at the end of the summer, just when, in Toby’s experience, people were often looking for a place.

He stood up and held out his hand, and they shook on it. Toby figured he could put up with a musician for four months, especially if he had headphones.

D
AVID
liked to throw parties, which was the first unusual thing Toby noticed about him. Most of his tenants were social butterflies, going out to other people’s parties or to nightclubs and bars for their entertainment; Steff, his longest long-term tenant, spent a lot of time at her boyfriend’s place and St. Michael’s Pub when she was not at work. Toby was used to having people around, but not being very visible. David had other ideas.

He hosted a board game party about once a week, a low-key affair for close friends, which Toby thought was incredibly lame until he got sucked into a four hour test of wills in
Risk: Star Wars Original Trilogy Edition
. After that, David simply assumed Toby was on the short list for board game night, and unless Toby was under a tight deadline or out at a nighttime shoot, he was there.

Once a month, David held large Southern-style potluck affairs that brought in twenty to thirty people. The first one Toby only partially attended, going out for a movie earlier as he usually did when tenants held parties. He figured being the landlord was not an automatic invite and tried to be respectful. When he showed up later that night, David fell on him in almost comical dismay, wondering why he had not come home earlier and forcing him to try his best friend’s version of bacon-wrapped artichoke hearts by poking one in his mouth when he tried to answer him.

Toby stopped trying to pigeonhole David after that, figuring he was someone who was used to having lots of people around and enjoyed cleaning the resulting mess. He kept his guitar practice quiet, and when he was not at band practice, or his job, or hosting a party, often sat in the living room reading a book. Toby enjoyed David’s company, which was more than could be said of some tenants, and if he always seemed to be underfoot, it was not as if it was much of a hardship.

T
OBY
came home from the shoot hot and sticky and miserable. His models looked elegant and sexy in latex while making out in the ferns, but they had also nearly passed out from heatstroke. It had been a five gallon sport drink kind of shoot, and Toby was very bitter that his fans and customers would all look at the pictures and think the sweat was sprayed on the models out of a bottle. Every drop was real, on them and on him, and Toby’s own damp clothes were testament to his craft. At least, he thought so.

There was music in the den; he could hear it though the garage door as he dumped his gear and locked the place down. When he walked in, it was to candle light and blues music and the smell of something meaty and saucy.

“What, you got a date and forget to warn us?” Toby nearly stumbled into the couch. David put down his guitar and jumped up, grabbing him.

“What the hell? You okay?”

“Winter can get here any damn time it likes. It is ten different kinds of hell out there.” Toby nodded absently, the cool air of the A/C making him giddy. He felt himself being pushed into the cushions, and part of him rebelled at sitting on anything without a shower first but exhaustion won out.

“Yes, hence I am in here.” David’s voice was distant. Toby realized why when David was in front of him again with a glass of water. “Drink.”

“Mmmmm.” Toby nodded and downed the glass, holding it out for a refill. David was in and out of the kitchen again quickly, handing him another full glass. This time he sipped at it.

“Seriously, you look beat. You going to be okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Just a miserable day out there, three hours doing that shoot in the boonies and most of that time I was thinking I would have to call the paramedics for my models.”

David gave him a confused glance as he sat back down and picked up his glass, filled with amber liquid that Toby guessed was whisky.

“Latex. It was for some new dresses LaTextia has coming out, so we just doubled up and shot some soft-core sex scenes for the web site too. But jeezus, we were all ready to pass out
looong
before the come shot.”

David frowned. “Since moving in with you, my interest in porn has really dropped off. You kind of ruin the magic for me.”

Toby nodded as he leaned back and closed his eyes. “S’my job. You’re welcome.”

David snorted and laughed, but did not add anything else to the conversation. Toby heard him pick up his guitar again and start playing bits and pieces along with the music on the stereo. Toby drank his water and drifted for a bit, reveling in the A/C and the dark room and the soft couch.

Finally David put down the guitar again. “Got some stew on. Should be ready. Care for any?”

Toby nodded and held out his glass again, trying to look pathetic, which he feared was not much of a reach right then. David grinned at him and took the glass. He banged around in the kitchen for a bit and then came out carrying a tray with two bowls and a plate of bread on it. He set it down, and Toby noticed a second glass that David quickly filled with the Scotch whisky he was drinking and handed over. Toby took a sip and sighed—it was lush and honeyed and delicious. He reached for his bowl of stew.

“You are totally spoiling me.”

“Awesome.” David grinned and sat down, grabbing his own bowl and a few pieces of bread.

“Oh no, this in no way gets you a break on rent.” Toby shook a piece of bread at him as he chewed.

“Ahhhh, my master plan foiled!” David laughed and they toasted their glasses.

The time sped by as they ate, had second helpings, emptied half the bottle, and relaxed on the couch. By that time Toby’s brain came back online just enough to know he was a little buzzed, and that the room was lit by candles. He waved his hand around. “Seriously. Date?”

“No! Can’t a guy just want some romantic time for himself?”

Toby snapped his fingers. “After all this time, I had no idea you were gay!”

David groaned.

“It’s okay, I’m gay too, you know.”

“Oh well, good then!”

“The board games should have tipped me off….”

David rolled his eyes and plucked Toby’s glass from his hands. “You are drunk.”