Calvin’s Cowboy (28 page)

“So…what do you think?” Calvin asked.

“Hmm,” Brock said. He had to admit Calvin had been patient. They’d visited every room in the place and his man had managed to hold his tongue. Brock guessed he shouldn’t keep Calvin waiting any longer. “It has possibilities. I think the building would be at its best if we combined an old-fashioned look with modern functionality.”

“Oh?”

“A heated towel rail in here for example.” Brock walked to the wall and stretched out his hands. “It would provide both heat to the room, which faces north, and would also warm towels of course.” Brock walked around some more. “Yes, that would work,” Brock thought out loud. “The building is heated with steam, which is typical for here.”

“Yes.”

“There’s plenty of space in here.” Brock did a three-sixty turn in the bathroom. The wall tiles would probably have to be replaced: too many were cracked or discolored.

“That’s true,” Calvin put in, but Brock was too deep in his visions of what the bathroom would look like when he’d finished with it to pay him much attention.

“There should be a cast iron claw-foot tub, and, yes, with antique polished brass fittings.” He looked over at the toilet. Would one with an elevated water tank and a pull chain be in keeping? Brock didn’t know. He’d have to give that more thought. The existing sink would have to come out. Something with a pedestal…yes, that would work. A large sink with a shelf behind and around it. Matching brass fittings of course. Brock nodded. Yes, he could picture it. A mixture of concealed wall-lighting, plus a central ceiling light—he looked up—would really set the room off nicely.

Brock caught his reflection in a mirror. He was smiling and nodding. Had he found his niche?

They took another quick look around, thanked the Realtor and set off for the subway. Calvin had offered to call for a cab, but Brock knew they were expensive, and they’d all bought subway cards a few days before which were due to expire shortly. Brock wanted them to get their money’s worth.

“Should we put in an offer?” Calvin asked when they had seated themselves on the subway train.

Brock found it interesting how Calvin was deferring to him.

Seemingly reading his mind, Calvin said, “You’re the expert here.”

Brock shrugged. He had really liked the place, but… “Depends on how much they’re asking.” He had no idea about the cost of property in New York.

“It’s quite reasonable, and I think I can beat them down a little more.”

Even with Junior present, Brock had to ask. “Surely you can’t afford to buy such a place outright?”

Calvin laughed. “Heck no, but the bank can. We could get a loan, fix the place up, sell it, and make a profit and pay off the bank. Then look for another place, and repeat the process.”

Was it really that simple? Brock doubted it. “It’s too big a job for just me.”

Calvin smiled. “I know you’re good,” in a lower voice, which Brock just managed to hear over the noise of the subway car, he added, “very good indeed.” Calvin licked his lips, making Brock squirm. “But I know you’re not Superman.”

Brock looked around. No one was paying them any attention. Junior—who sat on the next seat—was reading a book.

“Obviously Building Brocks would have to contract out much of the work, and—”

“We are not calling it ‘Building Brock’s,’” Brock said.

Junior snickered.

“’Brock’s Bricks?’”

“No!”

“‘Cowboy Construction?’”

Brock shook his head and crossed his arms. He knew he was wearing a shit-eating grin. He loved it when his man was being goofy. If we set up a company we’ll call it “‘Brockwell Construction’ or something like that.”

“’Stucco On Cowboys?’” Calvin persisted. “We could have the tag line, ‘We’ll fix ya’ll up.’”

Junior laughed.

Brock rolled his eyes and repeated, “’Brockwell Construction.’”

“Well, whatever we call it, the company would contract out certain tasks for the length of the job, and”—Calvin’s voice lowered again—“it’ll be overseen by the most beautiful man in…uh…”

“The solar system?” Brock offered at normal volume, causing Junior to look up from his book.

“Had we got up to that?”

“No, but it’s the next step.” Brock couldn’t believe he was indulging Calvin with this silly conversation, especially in front of Junior.

“That’s true. Well, this guy will be in charge. And as he can speak Spanish, he’ll be able to hire from the Latino community.”

“I wonder if Pedro would move up here? He’s very good.” Brock teased, knowing Calvin thought the roofer had had designs on Brock, and had been jealous. Brock wondered what Calvin would say, given Junior’s presence.

“No chance, buster.” Calvin crossed his arms.

Brock noticed Junior had given up all pretence of reading.

“I’m sure he’s good at many things,” Calvin continued, “but he can stay being good at them in Texas. You understand?” He glared at Brock.

“Yes, darlin’.” Brock smiled. He sure loved pushing Calvin’s buttons. Still feeling playful, Brock leaned in and whispered, “Pedro is good, but you’re even better. You’re the only man this ole cowboy wants.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Junior said, causing Calvin to laugh and Brock to blush.

“You know,” Calvin continued, “with your good looks you could have your own TV show. We could call it ‘Brock’s—”

“No we couldn’t,” Brock interrupted, but his grin was back. Calvin sure was on a roll this afternoon.

* * * *

“Andrew, it’s great to see you again.”

“You, too. It’s been too long.”

The first thing that struck Brock was the man’s English accent. Brock began to wonder if Calvin had made a mistake by bringing them here. Everybody knew the English couldn’t cook worth a damn.

Because Junior was out at a party with Maggie and her friends, Calvin and Brock found themselves with a free evening. Brock was given the choice of spending the time in bed, or going out to the hole-in-the-wall place Calvin had mentioned a week or so earlier. It hadn’t been an easy choice, but eventually Brock’s stomach had won out over his dick. However, Brock was hoping the meal wouldn’t take all evening, so they could go back home and…

“Yeah, sorry,” Calvin was telling the English guy, “I had to go back to Texas to fix up the parents’ place and try to sell it.”

“How’d that go?”

“It’s on the market. But there’re no takers yet.”

“It’s not easy to shift property at the moment,” Andrew observed.

“Nope.” In an obvious attempt to change the subject, Calvin asked, “How’s Matthew?”

Brock saw that Andrew’s face—which no one could describe as handsome—softened at this other man’s name. “Amazing as always.”

“Oh, you two.” Calvin smiled warmly. “Like I said on the phone, I brought someone with me. He’s missing the tastes of home.”

“We can’t have that,” Andrew said, seeming to acknowledge Brock for the first time. ”Let me show you to your table.”

The place was surprisingly small; there were only six tables. The oak-paneled walls had various prints on them. Longhorns, the hill country. The picture above their table was of the Enchanted Rock.

“I’ll be back in a mo with your starters,” Andrew said.

Brock sat and placed his Stetson upside down on the chair next to him. Watching the waiter leave, his unease grew. What was this place? And they hadn’t even given the guy their order, and he was already talking about bringing out their food.

Calvin lit the candle on their table. Brock wondered why the waiter hadn’t done it.

“Relax,” Calvin said, taking Brock’s hand on the table top.

Instinctively Brock pulled away, shooting a quick glance around the room at the other diners. Three of the other five tables were occupied, each by men.

“This is New York, beautiful. It’s okay,” Calvin soothed.

It felt so alien to be able to hold hands in public, but Brock was beginning to realize that in some parts of this city he could, indeed, be as God had intended him. It was liberating, but still frightening.

Slowly he inched his hand back to the middle of the table. Calvin interlaced his fingers through Brock’s, and gave him a little squeeze.

Brock felt his face heat in embarrassment. He took another quick look around, but no one seemed to have noticed. In fact, the couple at the next but one table was also holding hands. Brock stared at them.

“Stop gawking,” Calvin murmured.

“Sorry, it’s just—”

“Here we go,” Andrew interrupted. “Matthew said he’d be out later to see you. He’s just a bit busy at the minute.”

Brock made to pull his hand back, but Calvin held on. Andrew didn’t seem to even notice. He placed two plates of black-eyed peas, red onion, and salsa on the placemats in front of them.

“Enjoy,” Andrew told them.

“Thank you.” Looking at the food, Brock began to believe he probably would enjoy. The steam rising from the plates caused his mouth to water.

Calvin let go of Brock’s hand and picked up his fork. Brock immediately missed the contact.

“Did you bring any drinks?” Andrew asked.

“Oh, yes, sorry,” Calvin said, dabbing at a smear of vinegar on his chin. “A six-pack of beer.”

“I’ll fetch you some glasses, then,” Andrew said, before walking away.

There was something not right about that guy, Brock thought, but the sight of the food distracted him from pursuing it.

He tucked the large cloth napkin into his collar. Salsa would be a bitch to get out of his silk shirt if he spilled anything on it.

“Oh, my, God!” Brock moaned through a mouthful of food. The taste was rich, full, sweet, salty…he didn’t know. This was the best darn Texas caviar he’d ever tasted.

“Glad I brought you here now?” Calvin asked after also tucking in his napkin.

Brock was so moved by the culinary spectacular, he reached out and took Calvin’s hand. The gesture wasn’t lost on his boyfriend.

Even when Andrew returned with their glasses, Brock didn’t make a move to separate. Andrew didn’t bat an eyelid as he wished them ‘Bon appetite,’ and withdrew.

The excellent food, and Brock’s need to ingest more of it than he could comfortably do with one hand, finally persuaded him to let go of Calvin, who smiled warmly at him, causing butterflies to briefly take flight in his insides. The man sitting opposite was everything Brock could have ever wished for: kind, generous, and sexy as sin.

They ate in almost total silence, each too intent on their food to talk. Brock then noticed there was music playing softly in the background; George Straight was singing one of his honky-tonk numbers.

“Want a drink?” Brock asked.

Calvin nodded, his mouth full.

Brock lifted the six-pack from the floor, pulled out a couple of bottles, screwed off the caps, and poured the contents into the glasses.

“Cheers,” Brock said as they clinked glasses.

“To us.”

Brock nodded. For the past couple of weeks Calvin hadn’t exactly been subtle in his attempts to persuade Brock and Junior to move to New York. But never had he actually come out and asked them to stay.

Brock had to admit the Big Apple had a lot to offer. Calvin had the connections, he’d already shown him that. Brock, as Calvin had said many times, had the construction skills. Together they could make a real go of flipping apartment blocks, providing decent homes for folks.

“Earth to Brock, are you receiving me?” Calvin asked.

“It’s a big step.”

Calvin nodded, knowing what Brock was talking about.

What was holding Brock back from not agreeing there and then to move? Lord knew there was nothing for him or Junior back in Texas. However, Brock still wasn’t comfortable about Calvin paying for everything: the setting up of a construction company, sponsoring Junior through college, buying them both clothes, the list seemed endless. But, Brock reasoned, if he could make the construction business a success, he’d be able to pay Calvin back.

“Ready for the main course?” Andrew’s voice brought Brock back to the present.

“Uh, sure. Say, they were mighty fine beans. Please pass on my compliments to Matthew, did you say?”

Andrew’s face lit up again. Brock wondered if he showed a similar reaction whenever anyone mentioned Calvin to him.

Andrew made to take the plates. Calvin moved quickly to pick up their half-f glasses. Brock shot Calvin a confused look. Calvin mouthed, “In a minute.”

“You’re in luck tonight,” Andrew said. “It’s Matthew’s famous smoked brisket and ribs.”

“Oh, man. I swear, his smoker is like a magic portal or something,” Calvin said.

Andrew laughed.

“You still have that rolling reservation for the fire department?”

“Yes, every Friday night at eight.”

Brock’s confusion must have shown on his face.

“The fire department was going to ticket them for having a smoker on the roof, this being a city and all,” Calvin began.

“But Matthew invited the bloke to come back that evening and try his smoked pork, on the house. He did, even brought a friend with him, and after one taste the bloke asked us for the ticket and ripped it up in front of us. He said that we’d never get another ticket so long as we kept a table free for them every Friday. They insisted on paying the bill when they left, and gave me a big tip, too.”

“Amazing,” Brock said. He didn’t think such cozy arrangements would go on in the big city.

“We had to turn a few patrons away this evening when word got out that Matthew had run the smoker yesterday. You were lucky we managed to fit you in.”

“Thanks. From both of us,” Calvin said.

Andrew departed, and—after remembering their earlier unspoken conversation about moving the glasses—Brock raised an eyebrow. Calvin must have remembered, too.

“Andrew is blind.”

“Huh?”

“The two of them decided to open up this hole-in-the-wall, Matthew doing the cooking, and Andrew waiting tables. It gives Matthew a reason to cook, he’s originally from a large family, and it also gives Andrew a job, one he’d never be able to have in any other establishment. By day Matthew is a licensed massage therapist, and Andrew is a book editor.”

“Really?”

“They’re just a small operation. There’s no menu, you get whatever Matthew has cooked that day. They don’t advertise, there’s no need, it’s all by word-of-mouth. Everyone who eats here knows the score. We make sure no accidents occur like what almost happened just now. Andrew’s a smart cookie. He will have known I moved the glasses, but it’s understood I won’t say anything, and neither will he.”