Venetian Masks Page 7

  In the dim light, Cleve’s white teeth gleamed. “Excellent. And you can consider this a bonus, free of charge.” And before Jeff could wonder what he meant, Cleve put his hands behind Jeff’s head and tugged him down for a kiss. It certainly wasn’t the peck on the cheek Kyle and Jeff used to exchange before heading to work, nor even the perfunctory smooches they’d exchanged as a sort of foreplay. This was warm, hard and soft at once, tasting slightly of coffee and wine as Cleve’s tongue ventured into Jeff’s mouth. His cheeks were scratchy against Jeff’s smoother ones, and Jeff finally gave in to temptation and reached up to touch Cleve’s hair. It was soft and sleek and thick enough to bury his fingers in.

  They pulled apart eventually—Jeff wasn’t sure by whose decision—and he was a little breathless and very, very hard.

  “Eleven tomorrow, usual place,” Cleve said and then turned and walked away.

  Chapter 6

  “YOU look as if you had a good day, Signore Dawkins.”

  If Jeff’s face hadn’t already been flushed from the kiss, he would have blushed. He was glad he’d thought to hold his jacket in front of himself. “I did. I rode a gondola. And a vaporetto.”

  Mita dimpled. “This is the best way to see Venezia—from the water, yes?”

  “I think so. And we don’t have gondolas back home.”

  “Even if you did, it would not be the same,” she said with a dismissive flap of her hand. “And your crush? Is it love yet?”

  “It’s… maybe we’re going steady.”

  “Then love is around the corner.”

  He shifted his jacket uncomfortably in his sweaty hands. “Are you from here, Mita?”

  “Born right here in Cannaregio,” she said proudly.

  “Then how do you know Venice is so great? If you don’t have anything to compare it to, I mean.”

  “Oh, I have seen other cities. I have traveled to nearly every country in Europe, to Japan and South Korea and Hong Kong, to Morocco and Egypt and Tunisia. I have even been to your New York and Los Angeles, and I spent one university term in Kansas.”

  Jeff had probably a half dozen years on this girl and he hadn’t been anywhere. “Didn’t you like those places?” he asked.

  “Of course! I like them very much. But that is the joy of travel—I like those places, and when I come back home, I love it even more.”

  He smiled at her. “Good night, Mita.”

  “Buona notte.”

  When he got back to his room, Jeff hung up his jacket and leaned back against the door. He could still taste Cleve on his lips and he was still achingly erect. Cursing under his breath, he fumbled open his jeans and, there in the entryway, stroked himself viciously until he came. It took very little time, even though it was the second time that day. His release left him feeling tired and unfulfilled, but at least he didn’t feel guilty.

  Hi Jeffy,

  Hope you’re having a fabulous time! Did you find me those earrings yet? ;-)

  Got a call a few minutes ago from someone who saw your house yesterday. She adored the place but her husband’s out of town. I’ve scheduled a showing with both of them when he gets back. They’re prequalified for financing. I have a good feeling about this, Jeffy!

  *Enjoy* yourself, darling. Dad sends his love!

  L,

  Mom

  MORNING sun slanted through the window. Jeff chewed his lip as he wrote a quick reply and sent it off. He really loved his home but just couldn’t afford it by himself. Besides, it was too full of memories. He’d be much better off if the place sold quickly and he moved into an apartment somewhere. Hell, maybe he could even find one with a decent workout room and cancel his membership at the gym. He’d save even more that way. And a pool—that’d be nice. He remembered the previous day’s discussion about Marco Polo and almost smiled. Almost. Because the idea of giving up his home was hard to bear.

  His dreams had been only moderately horrible, and now, showered and dressed, he felt moderately refreshed. It was still far too early to meet Cleve—and he needed to temper his wild buzz of anticipation—so he decided to hunt down some breakfast.

  He had no particular destination in mind, but his feet took him over the Rialto, where the tourist crowds were still thin, and to the market. The stalls sold fruit and veggies, and nearby were stands that sold cheap snack food. He decided the busy bakery might be a good choice and ended up buying a small round loaf of bread with almond slivers and large granules of sugar on top. He bought some strawberries and blood oranges from a smiling vendor who wore a scarf over her hair. He wished he knew how to cook properly so he’d have an excuse to buy more of the enticing produce.

  A short distance away was a place that sold coffee and had a few little tables scattered in front. He saw that other people were sitting there, sipping their drinks and munching on food from the stalls, and he decided to do the same. It ended up being a good choice: the espresso was perfect, the strawberries were juicy and flavorful, and the sweet bread was goddamn delicious. With the pigeons pecking near his feet, some kids laughing and kicking a soccer ball in the campo, and the boats passing by on the canal, it was an altogether satisfying meal—which could have been improved only by the right company. He wondered where Cleve would take him to breakfast if he were given the chance.

  Jeff wandered for a while, and then returned to his apartment and dropped off the leftover food. He reminded himself to do a load of laundry that evening. He was down to two clean sets of clothes, and he wasn’t sure how long it would take for stuff to dry in the slightly damp air. He tried to read, realized he was too keyed up to concentrate, and ended up playing solitaire on his laptop instead.

  “AREN’T you the prompt one, Just Jeff?” teased Cleve after checking his watch.

  Jeff pointed at the other man’s empty espresso cup. “You were early.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the hired help. Besides, this way you can pay.”

  Jeff did pay for the coffee, cheerfully even, and then followed Cleve across the campo. “Gonna tell me what’s on tap for today, or is it top secret?”

  Cleve glanced over at him, one side of his mouth quirked. “I’ll give you a hint. It involves a journey over water with a dark, handsome not-so-stranger.”

  “You’re pretty strange, Cleve.”

  “Thank you, Just Jeff.”

  Cleve was wearing a silky green T-shirt that brought out the green flecks in his eyes, a pair of distractingly tight black jeans, and a leather motorcycle jacket. Jeff liked the jacket, even if it covered the tattoos.

  They boarded a vaporetto at Fondamente Nove, the same stop where Jeff first alighted on his arrival in Venice. It had been only a few days ago, yet he already felt more comfortable here than he’d imagined possible. The boat zipped across the slightly choppy water—the weather a little overcast and windy—and a few stops later, they got off again.

  “Murano?” Jeff asked. “Cool. I need earrings for my mom. But I could’ve bought those without crossing the lagoon.”

  “You could, yes. But this way we can watch them make the damn things. Besides, the island’s worth a visit for its own sake.”

  “Okay.”

  They watched a couple of glassmakers. Jeff had to pay a few euro coins for the privilege, but it was fun. Then Cleve took him through a quiet residential area to what seemed to be the island’s commercial center. It resembled the city of Venice, with canals, boats, bridges, and of course, jewelry shops. But it was smaller, more laid-back. Less crowded. A nice place for a pleasant stroll. Cleve didn’t point out any sights here, which was fine. Jeff discovered he enjoyed even the guy’s quiet companionship, especially the frequent smiling glances his way.

  “Earrings, huh?” Cleve said after a while. “In here.”

  They entered a shop that looked a little more high-end than average, with glassware arranged in tasteful and stylish displays. As soon as they entered, a statuesque blonde in a brown suit approached them. “May I help you?” she asked, apparently identifying Jeff’s n
ationality as easily as Cleve had.

  Cleve pointed a thumb at Jeff. “Mom earrings.”

  “Of course.” She turned to Jeff. “Did you have anything in mind?”

  “Um, she said yellow or green.”

  “Do you think she would prefer something classic, or perhaps a more modern design?”

  He thought about that one for a while, trying to picture the kinds of stuff his mother wore. He never really paid that much attention, to tell the truth. “Maybe something sort of in between?”

  She had a sexy, kind of husky laugh. “Very well. Please let me show you some possibilities.” She motioned the men to a pair of plush chairs in front of a marble table and then spent several minutes sailing around the shop, picking up this and that. When she returned to sit opposite them, she had a dozen pairs of earrings that she arranged carefully on the tabletop.

  Jeff squinted at them, imagining them hanging from his mother’s ears. They were all really nice, and he was pretty sure she’d like any of them, but finally he pointed at one pair. They were sort of amber-colored, although the beads had several shades of yellow swirled together, and the metal posts had a sort of filigree design. “These?” he said hesitantly.

  “Excellent choice,” said the saleswoman. She probably would have said that about whatever he picked. He handed over sixty euros, and she wrapped his purchase in a box and fancy paper, then placed it in a paper bag.

  Cleve took them to a little restaurant tucked into a side street. He ordered them pasta and wine and leaned back in his cushioned chair. “Your mom’s pretty special to you, huh?”

  “Well, I guess. I mean, she’s my mom.”

  “You get along with your dad too?”

  “Most of the time. As long as we avoid the topics of baseball and the state legislature.”

  Cleve smiled, but there was something sad and faraway in his eyes. “They know you’re gay?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “And they’re cool with it?”

  Jeff had known he liked boys since he was in his midteens. But in high school it had seemed easier to date girls—not that he did much of that, really. He’d remained a virgin until his sophomore year in college, when he struck up a friendship with a guy in his poli-sci class. Theo was president of the campus Rainbow Alliance and wasn’t really Jeff’s type—too light and slender and… bouncy. But he was a nice kid, and he seemed to know every gay boy in town. He introduced Jeff to a world that Jeff had barely known existed, and patiently set him up with a succession of men. Jeff didn’t stay a virgin for very long. After several weeks of anxiety, he came out to his parents over Thanksgiving weekend. His mother smiled and said, “As long as you’re happy, darling,” and his father mortified him by reminding him to have safe sex, and that was it.

  “They’re cool,” Jeff said in response to Cleve’s question. “I think Mom’s still hoping for grandkids, though.”

  “Lots of queers have kids nowadays.”

  “Mainly if they have partners. I don’t want to be a single parent.”

  Cleve narrowed his eyes a little. “You’ll get a partner.”

  Jeff snorted. “Like Kyle? ’Cause that didn’t work out so well.”

  “Yeah, but that’s ’cause Kyle’s an ass hat, remember?”

  They ate their noodles in silence for a while—they were really good noodles—and drank their wine. Jeff surprised even himself when he suddenly asked, “What about your folks?”

  “What about them?” Cleve asked, frowning deeply.

  “Are they okay with you being gay? Um… I’m sorta assuming… after that kiss….” He was blushing again.

  “Yeah, I’m queer as a three-dollar bill. And my family is not okay with that.”

  For no reason he could name, Jeff pushed a little harder. “Which family is that? History teacher or mechanic?”

  Cleve set his fork down and compressed his lips into a thin line. He stared at some point a few feet to Jeff’s side; maybe the weird blue glass sculpture that hung on the brick wall. “My stepdad is a long-haul trucker, and Mom used to work at a grocery store. Neither of them wants anything to do with their faggot son.”

  Jeff was somehow certain that these words were the truth, and they made his guts twist. He knew people like that—people whose families rejected them because of their sexual orientation—and even the thought of it made him feel sick and desperate. If his own parents didn’t love him, what would he have? “What about brothers and sisters?” he asked quietly.

  “Them either.”

  Jeff took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, they’re ass hats too.”

  Cleve finally looked at him again, and this time there was something soft and questioning in his eyes, as if he’d discovered something unexpected. Then, with visible effort, he straightened his shoulders and picked up his fork. “Yeah,” he said huskily.

  THEY had gelato after lunch. Jeff had never eaten so much ice cream in his life. He refused, however, to try the malaga flavor, which Cleve explained was rum raisin. Jeff had hated raisins since he was a kid, so he chose pistachio instead.

  They reboarded the vaporetto but got off before they reached the main island. “What’s this?” Jeff asked as they walked along a cement walkway. A pinkish brick wall was on one side of them and the lagoon on the other. They’d spent a longer time on Murano than he had realized, and the sun was angling low over the water. The wind had kicked up a little more too, and he was shivering a bit in his jacket.

  “Isola di San Michele.”

  Jeff had to strain a little to hear Cleve’s voice, and not just because of the wind. His guide had been subdued ever since lunch. Jeff wondered if he was angry or upset over the questions about his family, but then Cleve was the one who’d raised the subject first. And anyway, his expression when he met Jeff’s eyes—which wasn’t often—didn’t seem hostile. Just… pensive. Maybe a little melancholy.

  “And what’s there to see here?” Jeff asked.

  Cleve gave a small smile. “I see dead people.”

  They passed through a pair of large metal gates, and Jeff realized what Cleve meant. They were in an enormous cemetery, one that seemed to contain a complexity of buildings and arcades and courtyards, with towering cypress trees standing sentinel here and there. Cleve made a sort of sweeping gesture with his arm. “This is the end of the line for a lot of Venetians. Well, sort of. When they run out of room in the ground, they dig up the bones and store them somewhere to make room for new dead people.”

  “Ew.”

  Cleve shrugged. “Could be worse. Venetians used to stick their stiffs all over town, which wasn’t such a great idea on a little island that floods all the time.” Their feet crunched softly on the crushed-stone pathway as they walked. “When Napoleon’s men showed up in town, they convinced the locals to kind of export their corpses. More hygienic, I guess—less chance of Great-aunt Maria popping up next time it rains.”

  “Ew,” Jeff repeated, but this time he laughed as well.

  They wandered for a while, puzzling out inscriptions in the fading light—people dead from wars and old age and disease. It was a peaceful place. Jeff didn’t see anyone else there at all, although once he caught some faint voices on the wind. He hadn’t been in a cemetery since he was fifteen years old. Half his life ago, he was startled to realize. Maybe when he got back to California, he’d be brave enough to go again, now that he saw how a place of rest could actually be restful, and beautiful, and not really morbid at all.

  They were both quiet on the brief ride back to Fondamente Nove.

  “You’re gonna fire my ass now, aren’t you?” Cleve said resignedly when they reached shore.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” Jeff said, and Cleve blinked at him in surprise.

  “I wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs this afternoon.”

  Jeff smiled at him. “It’s okay. You’re my guide, not my private jester.”

  Cleve’s shoulders relaxed, and for the first time in hours, his cocky smile spr
ead across his face. “Let’s go have some dinner, pal.”

  CLEVE perked up a little over their meal, which was a simple one: pizza slices eaten while leaning up against a medieval wall. Jeff learned that peperoni meant “peppers” in Italian, not the meaty version of pepperoni that he knew, but he didn’t mind very much. He liked watching Cleve eat, especially now that he knew how that sensual mouth felt, how it tasted. They went to a wine bar for a couple of glasses of white wine, along with a few tiny plates of fishy things. The waiter obviously knew Cleve, but Jeff didn’t like the way the man smirked at him.

  “Sorry,” Cleve said when the waiter was elsewhere.

  “What’s his problem?”

  “He thinks you’ve hired me for fucking.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” Jeff asked, confused.

  “Not really. I mean, if you were paying me for it, you’d be the chump, wouldn’t you?”

  “How so?”

  “’Cause I’d be getting my rocks off with a hunky guy and I’d be filling my pockets. And you’d be emptying yours when you could screw all you want for free.”

  Jeff blinked. “I could?” He wasn’t sure he was following the conversation very well.

  “’Course, dude! Maybe the ass-hat ex has been acting as a blinder for you, but you’re pretty damn easy on the eyes. I doubt you’d have any trouble getting laid if you put a bit of effort into it.”

  Jeff never really thought of himself as good-looking. Back in his college days, he’d had sex as often as he wanted it, but he was hanging out with other guys his age, and playing hard to get wasn’t exactly anyone’s game. Then there was Kyle, and Jeff stopped noticing whether other men were noticing. That was important to him, even if it wasn’t to Kyle. Jeff had been faithful in spirit as well as in the flesh. “I told you you’re hired for tomorrow. You can cut the sweet talk,” he said.