The Worst Best Luck (15 page)

“You fucker.”  Cody lowered the gun.  “I
hate you
!”  The rage was clear, and Peter saw it now.  Cody had always hated him, had always despised him.  And only now, when the game was up, could he let fly his true colors.

“I know you do.  Now let’s go.”

Cody’s survival instinct kicked in at last, as Peter knew it would.  “Fuck you,” he said, opening the door.  “You did this to me.  This is all your fault.”

It was like water off a duck.  All the buttons that Cody was looking to press were smashed, the control panel fried out, useless to him. 

“Leave the gun, Cody, you don’t want that in your hand when you get arrested.”

Cody threw it, hard.  “You’ll be sorry you did this.”

No,
Peter thought with the animal exhilaration that comes from a narrow escape, the exhilaration of freedom regained. 
I won’t.

The rent-a-car was surrounded by dark sedans.  When they came out of the woods, it took a second for the FBI to see them.  Then they were on them, hurling Cody to the ground.  Only then did Peter begin to shiver uncontrollably.

They wrapped him in a shock blanket and he sat on the bumper of the ambulance as Cody was whisked away.  “Can I use a phone, please?” he asked, and was instantly handed one.

He dialed the number from memory.  “Hello?” Matt said cautiously.

“It’s me.”

“Oh shit, Peter, are you…”

“It’s over.  I’m safe.  With the cops,” he added, remembering the alternative Matt had given him.

“Oh thank God.”  Peter could hear the tension leaving Matt’s body, could hear the whoops of victory from his friends.

“How did you get him to the cops?”

“I gave him the choice.”  It wasn’t the time, Peter realized, to tell Matt how close he’d come to death, how he’d had to risk it.  But he knew Cody now, as well as…no, better now than Cody knew him.  “He’ll be fine in prison.  It’ll suit him.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed.  “That’ll suit me, too.”

Peter smiled.  “I love you.”

“I love you too.  Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really over?” 

Peter laughed.  He knew what Matt meant.  Was Peter free inside, free of Cody, free of all the things that had led him down that dark path…

“Yeah, Matt.  It’s over.”

It was such a nice morning for a walk, Peter thought, ambling down 11
th
Avenue early on a Saturday morning.  He was glad he’d put the foundation’s offices out here, near the water.  And near Matt’s apartment – his and Matt’s apartment, now, the rent split fifty-fifty.

“I can’t move.  I’ll have to take a cab,” Peter groaned, after stuffing himself on the breakfast Matt had made him.  “You’re trying to make me fat.”

Matt had wrapped his hands around Peter’s narrow waist.  “That’ll never happen.”

“Keep making sausage and bacon omelets and it will.”

“You can burn it off on your stroll through ‘Midtown West.’”

Peter laughed, thinking about the conversation he’d had with the realtor when he’d been looking for offices for the foundation.  She rattled off a list of buildings in “Midtown West,” and he’d said, no, I want Hell’s Kitchen.  Which was the same thing, he discovered, only realtors didn’t want to use the old name with its slummy historical associations.

He looked at his watch, a $600 Luminox that had been his one real extravagance.  He still had time before the nine o’clock meeting to sneak in his site visit.  He picked up the pace, remembering all too well the days when he’d sat in a room, bored to tears, waiting for some account executive to show up fifteen minutes late.  He wouldn’t be that kind of boss.

The building had been a steal, really – a nondescript, boarded-up building at 13
th
and 11
th
Avenue, that his architects and engineers were transforming into a handsome, but relatively modest, headquarters.  Peter stepped inside and carefully picked his way through the building materials and sawdust. 

“Where’s your hard hat, mister?” Katie asked him from the top of the stairs.

“Why, is this place going to fall down around my ears?”  He smiled at the sight of her; it had been the work of a moment to get her to quit the ad agency and become his right hand man.

“Possibly.  You sure you don’t want to move into a nice skyscraper?”

“Very funny.”  Who on earth would want to move into a glass tower when they could be a block from the water, a block from the High Line, in a building where all the windows would open?  And there would be lots of windows; Peter had mandated that.

He looked around, checking on the progress.  He rarely had time to come here and do that these days.  He was being careful with the foundation’s money, but this was something he wanted very badly, and in the long term, the amount of office space he’d be able to provide free of charge to other agencies made it a win-win.  It would be a year or more before the Rabe Foundation could move in here, but it would be worth the wait.

“Okay, let’s go to work.”

He and Katie took the short walk to the temporary offices on 14
th
.  In the conference room, the staff was assembled and enjoying the coffee and food Peter had ordered in. 

Peter nodded, smiled at everyone in turn, and took his seat at the head of the table.

“Thanks, everyone, for coming in today on your day off.  I really appreciate it.”  Monday was the last day of the quarter and Peter had promised the grant applicants that they’d have their answer by then.  The decisions were pretty much complete, but this was the staff’s chance to make any last-minute appeals for their personal favorites that had come in late or hadn’t made the first cut. 

“So, what have you got for me?” he asked his eight employees.

Annalise raised her hand.  “The Metro Theatre Company.  They’ve got a really great idea for a contemporary version of ‘Antony and Cleopatra.’  The framework is a presidential election, and Cleopatra, Antony and Caesar are all candidates.”  She handed a piece of paper up the table to him.

Peter looked at the numbers.  “The budget’s low, can they really do it for this amount?”

She nodded enthusiastically.  “That’s the thing, in modern dress, the sets and costumes are cheap.  And Metro has a great social media presence, that’s why their promotional budget is low.”

He looked at Annalise, saw her excitement, her hopefulness.  Peter had taken to heart the example that Matt had given him, of Wallis Annenberg, who may not have known about finance or administration, but who knew how to find good people, the right people, and trust them. 

He nodded.  “Okay.  It’s your baby.”

“Thanks, Peter.”  Annalise smiled. 

“Let’s see, what else?”

Gary spoke up next.  “Um, this is kind of silly.  But it could be a money maker for the East Edge Players.  You saw ‘Silence! The Musical’?”

Everyone laughed; the musical satire of “Silence of the Lambs” had been an off-Broadway hit.

“So this is ‘Snakes on a Plane: The Musical.’”

Everyone groaned now.  Peter shook his head, laughing.  “I don’t know.  I mean, ‘Silence’ worked because it was a great movie, that everyone’s seen, that was just short of overripe, you know?  That just needed a push to be hysterically silly.  But nobody saw ‘Snakes on a Plane.’  And it was stupid to begin with.  Sorry, I don’t see it.”

Gary nodded, not entirely rueful.  It had been a left field idea.

“But,” Peter added, “if they come up with a better movie to take off from, I’m open to it for next quarter.”

They went through a dozen projects in a half hour, and after that the staff started making calls of congratulations or regret.  With a glow of satisfaction, Peter signed a stack of checks to crisis hotlines, abused women’s shelters, and a cancer patient’s advocacy group. 

And there were two very generous checks he especially enjoyed signing, to the theater programs at Flatland High and Flatland Community College.  His old schools wouldn’t have to stage any free public domain works for a while, or have to borrow their costumes from thrift shops.

There was one more meeting he had to take, with one of his grant administrators.  Who, typical for Jeffrey, was late for it.  Peter kept busy by thumbing through the book Matt had given him.  “How Cars Work” was a kid’s book, but a good one, for someone at Peter’s mechanical level. 

Peter had decided he’d wanted to learn about engines after one too many evenings when he’d asked Matt how his day had been, and Matt had needed to edit the details of his latest challenge to simplify it for Peter.  He felt he was missing something, something about how Matt’s mind worked, by not understanding what it was he did all day.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jeffrey said in a huff, flinging his scarf into an empty chair and flinging himself into another one. 

No, you’re not,
Peter thought calmly.  Everything about Jeffrey’s demeanor was resentful of this meeting.  It was July, and people like Jeffrey were supposed to be in their summer houses on weekends, not in some office being called on the proverbial carpet.

“Jeffrey, I’ve had some more complaints from the staff about your behavior.”

“My behavior?” Jeffrey practically squawked.  “How so?”

“You’re rude to them.  Abrupt.  And cruel.  You’ve said some very mean things about their projects.  And, about them.  You’ve made it personal.”

Jeffrey raised an eyebrow.  “Well, if their work is no good, what do they expect?”

Peter leaned forward.  Jeffrey was surprised at the effect.  Peter was short, small, in a neat jacket and open shirt, well-made and well-cut but not high fashion, and he could see Jeffrey barely hiding his disdain as his eyes traveled over Peter’s clothes. 

“What I expect is for my people to be civil.  To be decent.”

“I’m entitled to my opinions.”

“You’re entitled to your wrong opinions, yes.  But not to airing them at will.  And if you don’t change your behavior, I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.”

“I have a contract,” Jeffrey said airily.  “You recruited me here, away from Richie Center, with a guaranteed salary for two years.”

“Yes, you do.  And that contract is invalidated if you’re fired for cause.  And I consider this behavior to be cause.”

“Well,” Jeffrey huffed.  “I don’t think you understand what it takes to manage people.  Sometimes you have to be harsh.  You’ve got to...”

Peter raised a hand.  Katie, standing outside the glass door, opened it and brought Peter a folder.  He opened the folder, signed two pieces of paper, and handed them to Jeffrey. 

“Here is your termination letter, and here is your severance pay.”

Jeffrey couldn’t believe it.  “You’re firing me?”

“I am firing you.”

“I will take this to the board.”

“I am the board,” Peter said, his unblinking eyes matching Jeffrey’s gaze.  “For all intents and purposes.”

“Yes, you are,” Jeffrey said disdainfully.  “Well,” he said, getting up.  “I’ll see you in court, and you’ll pay out my contract then, plus legal fees.  But,” he shrugged, “it’s your money.”

“Yes,” Peter said thoughtfully.  He nodded.  “Yes, it is.”

Then his day was done.  It was time to meet Matt at the garage for his lesson.  The garage was empty on a Saturday, and Peter put his coveralls on in the office.  He always got a stiffie putting them on, the grey uniform with
Peter
stitched in red on the white badge, especially with the…modification he’d made to them since the last lesson.  He had to look in the mirror to see if his ass looked as good in it as Matt’s did – not quite, but once he bent over…

Peter had a grin on his face at that, and Matt noticed.  “Good morning?”

“Yeah.  Really good, actually.” 

Matt had the hood of their practice car open, and he held up a part, an ovoid piece of metal, with a large hole cut out of the middle.  “What’s this?”

“Gasket.”

“What kind?”

“Um.  Carburetor.” 

“Good job.  How’d it go with Jeffrey?”

Peter smiled.  “It went well.”

“He’s seen the error of his ways?”

“No.  I fired him.”

Matt raised an eyebrow.  “And how did that go?”

Peter thought about it.  “Great, actually.”  He paused.  “You know, this is going to sound kind of fucked up.  But… I didn’t give him what he wanted.  I didn’t do what I always do, or did, with Cody.  Which was
give in
because it was easier.  Because I always had a ‘pre-exhausted condition,’ I guess.  Stop laughing! 

“And with Jeffrey, I could have just paid his contract out and not had to fight him in court.  But I didn’t.  I’ll fight him.  He’ll make a stink and sue me, but I’m ready.  I don’t give a shit.  Fuck him.

“And if Cody hadn’t come back… If I hadn’t had to face him, I don’t know, Matt.  I don’t know that I would have ever changed.  But he did, and I faced him, and I won.  And now?  Now all these people who are
not even close
to being as good a bullshit artist as he was?  They’ve got nothing on me.”

Matt’s heart soared.  “Finally,” he said, “Peter sees the same Peter I see.”  He pulled his lover in for a hug.

Peter felt Matt’s warm embrace, and something more.  His face was buried in Matt’s chest, and the coveralls were soft on his face from so many washings, such long use.  He reached up and unzipped them down to Matt’s abs, put his face in the opening, tasted Matt’s skin with his tongue.

He felt Matt’s heartbeat rise.  “Are you trying to get out of class, young man?”

“No, sir,” Peter whispered.  “I want to show you my homework, though.”

“Oh?  Have you been practicing something?”

Peter took the gasket out of Matt’s hand and set it aside, then reached up and pulled the coveralls off Matt’s broad shoulders.  He unhooked the car’s hood support and let it slam shut.  The closed hood was the perfect size, the perfect angle, he decided.

He had a smear of grease on his hand from the support, and he wiped it on Matt’s chest, put a little war paint on Matt’s face.  “Now you’re all dirty,” Peter whispered.

“You like it,” Matt said, grabbing the back of Peter’s hair, pulling it just enough to excite them both.  “You like it dirty.”

“Fuck yeah,” Peter agreed, going to his knees.  Matt shrugged his arms out of the coveralls.  Peter could see Matt’s huge erection underneath the grey fabric, big enough to cast its own shadow.

Matt reached down and freed his cock.  Peter was still amazed at its perfection, the ridges and ripples and veins, the sweet taste of Matt’s precum as he darted his tongue into its opening.

Matt pulled it up flat against his belly, covered it with his hand.  “What’s this called?”

“Drive shaft.”

Matt roared with laughter.  “You think?”

“Yeah.”  Peter couldn’t wait any longer.  He reached into his own coverall pocket and pulled out a tube of lube.  “And this is what makes it go.”

He put his hands behind his ass, and Matt’s eyes widened.  “Did you…”

“You wouldn’t know it was there, unless you were looking for it,” Peter grinned, slipping his lubed fingers through the incision he’d made in the coveralls.

The heat soared in Matt’s eyes.  “You planned this.”

Peter looked at him for a moment, touched his greasy cheek.  Then, wordless, he turned around, bent over the hood of the car, his ass in the air.