Such a Dance (10 page)

When he got to the Marigold, Eddie kicked the door. Etta opened it and gave Eddie a sardonic look. “I appreciate the gesture, dearest, but you didn’t have to bring me a man to be let in to the club.”

“I need Mr. Carillo right away. Is he here?”

Etta seemed to notice then that Julian was bruised and unconscious. She gasped. “I know this one. He works in Bryant Park.”

Eddie nodded. “I found him beat all to hell in the men’s room at the Astor.”

“Christ. Come inside, come inside. Raul! Get Lane!”

Lane appeared a moment later. “Eddie, what are you . . . what happened to him?”

“I found him this way. Can you help?”

“Of course. Let’s get him into the kitchen. The lighting is better there.”

Lane helped Eddie carry Julian through the club and into the kitchen. They lay Julian on the counter—not ideal, but it looked clean. Julian moaned again.

“He seems to be coming around,” Lane said.

“Can you help him? Is he going to die?”

“I know a little first aid, but . . . let me make a phone call.” Lane stepped away and started to head toward the hall. “I assume there’s a reason you brought him here and not to the hospital.”

“He’s a prostitute. He’d get arrested.” Eddie tried to convey the urgency of the situation with his gaze, but Lane stood there, his expression blank. “And he’s one of us,” Eddie added.

Lane pursed his lips and nodded. “Stay here.” Then he was gone.

Julian was coming around. He moaned softly and shifted his weight on the counter. The split on his lip was slowly trickling blood and his left eye was swollen shut, but he was moving. He was still alive.

Lane came back a moment later, carrying a blanket and a towel. He folded the towel and put it under Julian’s head before he draped the blanket over Julian’s body. Then he went to the icebox and took out a block of ice. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around the ice. He handed it to Eddie.

“Eddie, hold this to his eye. It will bring the swelling down.”

“What, um. What do we do?”

“You’re in luck. This is not the first time I’ve had to help out someone beaten within an inch of his life who can’t risk getting arrested.” Lane smiled ruefully. “I assume that’s why you brought him here?”

“I didn’t mean to bring you any trouble. It’s just that you were the closest, so I—”

“It’s fine. I understand. What’s his name?”

“Julian.”

“Which you know from a previous acquaintance. Because he’s not speaking much.”

“Yes.”

Julian raised his arms. He clasped onto Eddie’s hand.

“Julian?” Lane said. “You awake?”

Julian nodded.

“I’m Lane. Eddie brought you to me for help. I won’t hurt you and you won’t be arrested. Do you understand?”

Julian nodded again.

Just then there was a knock on the back door. Lane went to open it. “That was fast,” he said to the man on the other side of the door.

The man was short and rotund with a graying bristle-broom mustache. He carried a large black leather case. He had a pin on his lapel that was similar to the one Lane wore, so Eddie concluded this guy was also Mafia.

“This is Uncle Vito,” Lane said. “He’s a doctor.”

Uncle Vito looked nothing like Lane except for the fact that they had the same Mediterranean complexion. That didn’t necessarily exclude some kind of blood connection, but Eddie suspected Vito was an uncle to Lane by association only. Eddie stepped away from Julian, deciding to trust Uncle Vito if Lane did. If he was Mob-involved, he wouldn’t give Julian to the cops. Hopefully.

Eddie trusted Lane deep in his gut, so he allowed things to proceed.

Vito examined Julian, peering at his swollen face, peeling off his clothes to check for cuts and bruises, and pressing into Julian’s side with his fingers until Julian grunted in pain.

“The good news,” Vito said at last, “is that most of the injuries are superficial. I’d say that nose is broken, and he’s got a couple of bruised or broken ribs, too, but those aren’t life threatening if we set them properly. We do need to clean up some of these bad cuts to avoid infection, and we need to bandage him up so he doesn’t lose any more blood. This cut on his chest needs stitches.” He mulled over Julian’s prone form. “Laney, you have any whiskey?”

“You’re going to have a drink now?” Eddie asked.

“No. It’s for the patient. To help with the pain.”

Five minutes later, Lane and Eddie were assisting as Vito cleaned, closed, and bandaged Julian’s wounds. By then, Julian had passed out again, but Eddie hoped it was just as well; he wasn’t conscious of the pain, at least.

Eddie was relieved to see with his own eyes that Julian was going to be all right, although those bruises would linger for some time, most likely.

Vito pulled a fresh block of ice from the icebox and handed it to Eddie. “Keep this on his face. The swelling is already going down, but he looks like he could use more help with that.”

Lane pulled Vito into a corner where they had a hushed conversation. Then Lane shook Vito’s hand; the gesture was so smooth that Eddie wondered if money was being exchanged. Perhaps Lane was paying Vito not to mention that he’d come to the Marigold to patch up a flamboyant man who had clearly met the wrong end of some rough’s fist. Eddie wondered, too, if it would be obvious to Vito that Julian was a working boy, but he supposed there was nothing in Julian’s dress that would give that away.

Vito left, and Julian was now asleep, breathing softly, his chest rising and falling. The counter couldn’t have been comfortable. Eddie picked up the blanket and draped it over Julian again.

“I knew you weren’t a heartless bastard,” said Lane.

“All right.”

Lane stepped closer. Eddie looked down at Julian, concentrating on holding that ice to his face.

Lane said, “You put up this façade. You don’t care about anyone. You’re only out for your own interests. But deep down, you
do
care about other people. You care about this Julian.”

Eddie shrugged.

“I suppose,” Lane continued, “I can only hope that if you should find me near death in a hotel men’s room that you’d rescue me.”

“Lane, I—”

Eddie stopped talking and closed his eyes when Lane gently ran a hand down the back of his head.

“I understand you trying to protect your heart,” Lane said. “It’s a tough world out there. But you don’t have to pretend with me.”

“I’m not . . .” But what was he really doing? Eddie wasn’t quite sure. He and Lane had been meeting regularly for a couple of weeks, yes, and often they did more than just fuck. They’d talk or sleep or dance at the Marigold. Eddie often looked forward to the next time they would meet. And wasn’t that the whole reason Eddie had gone to the Astor tonight? He was getting too close. His emotions were tangled in a way he had never experienced, the nights with Lane giving him brief peeks at joy at the expense of his old, closed-off ways, and frankly, he found that terrifying. But if he’d spent the night with another man, well, wouldn’t that prove he didn’t need Lane? Because he didn’t. He just liked the man.

“You’re the only man I’ve been with in quite some time.” Lane spoke so quietly, Eddie thought at first he’d misheard. But he leaned slightly into Lane’s hand.

“You, too,” Eddie said quietly after a moment, almost reflexively. He didn’t need Lane, he repeated to himself, but there was no need to lie. “I mean, since I met you, I haven’t been with anyone else. Not even Julian. That was . . . that was the past.”

Lane nodded. “So this has to be worth something, right?”

Eddie nodded. “But this is not like a man courting a woman. We don’t go on dates. There won’t be some flowery ceremony down the road, or a house we live in together, or kids and a dog.”

“I know that,” Lane said. “Believe me, I do. Especially not for a man like me. Not for one like you, either, but the way things are with my job, and Epstein, and the club and everything, I learned a long time ago not even to hope for . . . Well.”

Lane looked at Eddie warily, but then something came over his face and his whole demeanor changed. His guard went back up, that was the only way Eddie could think of to describe it. Like he’d let the walls of his outer fort go down long enough for Eddie to get a good look at him and see that there was a lot of complexity, a lot of pain, under his mostly happy outside. He sighed. “I’m not saying you should get on your knees and swear your unending devotion to me.” Lane glanced at Julian. “He’s your past, as you said. All the things you did before you met me, the men you knew, the moments you’re less proud of, all of that is in the past. Consider letting me be your future. That’s all I’m asking.”

Eddie looked up at Lane, really looked at him, and realized he’d already considered. Whatever he’d been out to prove that night hadn’t come to anything, had it? What had he been out to prove? That he didn’t need Lane? That whatever had happened between himself and Lane hadn’t changed his life? Whether or not those statements were true seemed beside the point now as Lane stared at him. He’d come here tonight because he needed a safe place to get help for Julian, but he was drawn here, too, he was drawn to this man who stood before him who had no expectations beyond that he wanted to simply be with Eddie. And that was what Eddie wanted, too.

He’d come here tonight because he felt safe at the Marigold. He felt safe with Lane. And that was more than he could say for any other man he’d known in years.

“He needed my help,” was all Eddie said.

Lane nodded. “I hope that whatever is between us is mutual. That you spend as much time thinking about me as I spend thinking about you.”

Eddie’s breath hitched in his throat and his heart sped up. Hell, he came here tonight because Lane had been on his mind, because Lane was always on his mind. “Maybe I do.”

“Good.” Lane offered up a small smile. “I don’t want a promise. I just want to spend more time with you.”

“All right. That we can do.” Eddie felt like they’d just agreed to something, though he’d be damned if he knew exactly what it was. He looked back down. The ice was melting into his hand. “Now what do we do about Julian?”

“Wait for him to wake up.”

 

Lane shut down the Marigold for the night while he waited for Julian to come around. Eddie kept vigil. Concentrating on Julian was certainly easier than worrying about Lane and the ambiguity of the conversation they’d had an hour before. Sometime after two
A.M.
, Julian finally stirred, looked up at Eddie and Lane, and sighed heavily.

“Edward, darling,” he whispered. “My hero.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” asked Eddie.

Julian coughed. “What do you think happened? A client used me and then beat the stuffing out of me.”

“Did you get a good look at him?” Lane asked.

“Yes, but . . . who are you?”

“I’m Lane. I’m a friend.” To explain, Lane threw his arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “I’m with Eddie now.”

“Oh?” Julian asked. He rubbed his eyes and lifted his torso off the counter. He grunted, clearly in pain. He sighed and rested back on the counter. When he spoke again, it was quietly, but with more strength than before. “I’ve never seen you around before. Where did he pick you up?”

Eddie suddenly panicked. How could he explain this to Julian? How could he really explain Julian to Lane? Lane thought he knew what had gone on between Eddie and Julian, but did he really? Eddie squirmed away from Lane. “I have to go. I need to go outside. Get some air.”

“As it happens,” Lane said casually, “I’m not a prostitute.” He hooked his arm around Eddie’s, preventing Eddie from getting away. “No offense intended.”

Julian coughed. “Well, darling. Aren’t we all prostitutes?”

Seeing that he couldn’t escape, Eddie said, “Julian, what the hell happened?”

Julian turned toward Eddie as Lane backed away slightly. “I was at the Astor. I, um . . .” His brow furrowed. He lifted a hand and rubbed his right temple. “I can’t recall exactly. There was a man who called himself Harry. I met him outside. Had a conversation about baseball or something. He had a room, so he took me there. After we . . .” Julian held up his hands and made an obscene gesture. “Well, after that, he, uh, took out his aggressions on me, I suppose. Called me a fucking faggot fairy and . . .” Julian gestured toward his bruises.

Eddie closed his eyes, absorbing that. “He beat the stuffing out you, you mean.”

“I’ve never seen hatred like that,” Julian said, looking off in the distance. His flat tone was alarming. Eddie had never seen him this way, without the airs and affectations. It was like a light had been put out. “He hated himself. He hated me.”

Lane came around and curled his hand around Eddie’s elbow again. “How do you feel now?” Lane asked.

“Sore.” Julian looked around. “How did I get here? Where am I?” Raw fear flashed across Julian’s face.

“You’re at my place,” Lane said.

“You can trust him,” said Eddie. “He called a doctor who came and bandaged you up. The doctor can also be trusted to be discreet.”

Julian didn’t seem convinced.

Eddie said, “I found you in the first-floor men’s room at the Astor, bleeding all over the floor.”

“How did I get there?”

“I was hoping you could tell us.”

Julian let out a breath and rubbed his eyes. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Do you know anything about the man?” Lane asked. “His name, where he works?”

“No, nothing. Just the name Harry, probably not even his real name.”

“Do you have a place to stay tonight?” asked Eddie.

Julian shook his head. “I had been hoping to . . .” He sighed. “My stuff is at a friend’s place, but he’s always three days from getting evicted, so I don’t know. I pay him what I can, but . . .” He let out a breath. “God, what my face must look like. It hurts like hell. I can’t imagine I’ll get much work all banged up.”