Jason just stared in response, figuring it was better than laughing.
Ben’s face turned red. “God, did I really just say that? Enough metaphors. Basically Tim has some very dumb and stubborn ideas, but once he spends some time with you, he’ll get over it all. That’s why I thought we could swing by the gallery later to see him.”
“Okay,” Jason agreed. He figured the kind of person who could win Ben’s heart must be decent. First impressions weren’t always the best, so Jason was totally open to giving it another shot.
They left the mall to shop stand-alone retail stores. Jason found a cheap desk for his computer, and after some extra reassurance from Ben, also chose plum-colored sheets and a chocolate-brown comforter for his bed. Best of all was the huge electronics store that had a selection of musical instruments. Jason had no intention of ever parting with his old guitar—no matter how worn out it was—but he nearly shouted for joy when he found a guitar stand on sale.
“Do you have the guitar to go with it?” Ben asked.
“Yeah,” Jason said. “Upstairs in my room. I’ve had it ever since I was little.”
“So you can play?”
“I don’t keep it around just because it looks cool,” Jason teased. “Do you play anything?”
“Just myself,” Ben said before looking panicked. “That was supposed to sound clever, and
not
like a sex joke. I can sing. That’s what I meant.”
“Are you any good?”
Ben pretended to look offended. “Am I good? I do it for a living! Partially, anyway. I sing at a little dinner theater, depending on the play in season. I avoid the productions without music because I can’t act, and the audience only forgives me when I make with the voice.”
“Let’s hear something,” Jason said.
“Right now?” Ben cocked his head, tuning into the song on the store speakers. “I can’t rap. Sorry. I’m not big on singing
a cappella
either.”
“Then at home,” Jason said. “I’ll provide the tunes and you sing.”
Ben’s smile was subtle. “All right.”
They browsed further, but Jason was done shopping. He wasn’t used to blowing through money and already felt overwhelmed by what he had chosen. Ben insisted they make one last stop at the bookstore for a copy of the local newspaper.
“Back in the dark ages, companies used to advertise for help in the back of non-electronic paper,” Ben said. “You might find something in there that isn’t listed online.”
Jason humored him, rushing into the store and returning with not one, but two discoveries. “Classifieds for jobs,” he said, holding up a copy of today’s paper. Then he held up the free magazine he’d found called
Gay Austin!
“And classifieds for love. But don’t worry, the hunt for employment takes top priority.”
“You’re really determined to find a job, aren’t you?”
“Depends what kind of ‘job’ you mean,” Jason said with a lewd wink. He felt like he was testing the boundaries of their relationship, but luckily his joke earned a laugh.
“You can take some time off,” Ben said. “Figure out what you want to do with your life.”
Jason shook his head. “I’m not here for a free ride. You’re right that I don’t know what I want to do, but it’s definitely not mooching off you.”
Ben reappraised him and nodded. “Okay. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
They drove downtown, getting stuck in traffic on the way. Jason kept playing with the radio, trying to find a song Ben would sing along to, but Ben kept refusing, swearing a single note wouldn’t cross his lips until Jason played the guitar for him. Jason continued begging, tuning into increasingly terrible music and laughing at the horrified faces Ben made. He was still laughing when they parked in an older part of the city where the shops were one long row of smooshed-together buildings, partially hidden behind overgrown trees.
He noticed the art in the windows as he stepped out of the car—black and white paintings with copper mesh attached directly to the canvas. He examined a few, looking over at Ben, who shrugged like he didn’t get it either. Jason supposed neither of them needed to understand it, not as long as Tim was a good salesman, and obviously he was, since they seemed to have a lot of money.
Ben led the way inside. Seated at a minimal desk in the center of the room was Tim, who smiled at Ben. Jason was once again struck by how Tim lit up when doing so. But then his presence was detected and that light retreated. He thought of what Ben had said and wondered if it wasn’t true. Maybe Tim
was
something magical, like a unicorn, but to get close to that light would require tact.
Figuring Ben and Tim would want some time to speak alone, Jason stepped into one of the side rooms. He remained closest to the art near the doorway, so he could still listen in. First came the sound of a kiss—an unlikely greeting between generals about to go to war.
“What happened to the artists being here to represent their work?” Ben asked.
“They’re college students,” Tim replied. “They have to go to school.”
“I know, but one of them is usually here. You don’t usually put in this many hours.”
“It’s fine,” Tim said dismissively. “So what have you been up to?”
“Jason and I went shopping.”
“Have fun? Did you get anything for me?”
“Yes we did, and no, I didn’t. Will you be home for dinner?”
There was an awkward silence that even Jason felt tempted to fill.
“I might have to stay late,” Tim said finally.
“Are you kidding me?” Then, so quietly that Jason had to strain to hear, Ben whispered, “He’s living under your roof. You can’t keep avoiding him.”
“I’m not,” Tim mumbled.
“Then go talk to him!”
Jason quickly moved to the far wall, stopping before a painting of blue and purple squares, a stencil of a white bunny spray-painted in the middle. He grew tense as a single set of footsteps approached him, pausing once along the way. Then, accompanied by a whiff of cologne and aftershave, Tim was standing next to him.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” Jason replied, glancing over at him and then quickly away again. Tim was even hotter up close. That was a bad thing, because looking directly at him became impossible.
“So… sleep okay?”
Jason nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Tim shifted his weight back and forth. “Chinchilla usually sleeps with me.”
Jason waited for something to be added to this, some sign of Tim being amused or maybe surprised. Instead, it remained a cold hard fact.
“I’m sorry?” Jason tried.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Tim turn around, probably to seek guidance from Ben or to be spurred on. Feeling a little sorry for him, Jason decided to throw him a bone.
“This is an interesting painting,” he said. “I like it, but I don’t really get it.” He snuck a peek and saw Tim’s silver eyes moving over the canvas.
“It’s a juxtaposition of old values versus the new. The checkered pattern was common in the fifties when conformity was valued over individual expression. The spray-painted rabbit represents the guerilla tactics artists use on the street today, still waging a war against repression almost sixty years later.”
“Oh,” Jason said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I thought it might represent Easter.”
“Easter?”
“Yeah, you know. Blue and purple are sort of Easter colors, and then there’s the rabbit.” He glanced over again to see a strong jaw clenching.
“What’s this one make you think of?” Tim asked, leading them a few spaces over to a rough sketch of an old man. “Santa Claus?”
“Too skinny,” Jason said, peering at the art. “And naked.” He licked his lips, too nervous to check for a reaction to this statement. He was trying to be funny but had the feeling he was pissing Tim off. He supposed this was a very serious topic for him, since it was his livelihood, so Jason tried changing gears and showing more interest.
“This one here,” Jason said, taking them to a canvas so tall it almost reached the ceiling. “How much does it cost? Does the size mean it’s more expensive? I notice there aren’t any prices.”
“We keep them listed in a book,” Tim said. “That way people don’t judge the art by the price tag alone. If I remember right, this one goes for about five grand.”
“Wow!” Jason said, not faking his awe. “And how much of that do you keep?”
“You mean the artist? They get all of it.”
“Then how do you make money?” Jason asked.
“The gallery is funded by patrons,” Tim explained. “Their donations pay the rent and utilities.”
“Yeah, but how do
you
make money?” Jason pressed. “What’s your commission? You’re a salesman, right?”
In his confusion, Jason forgot his nervousness and looked at Tim directly. This gave him a nice view of the handsome brow getting all knotted up.
“You think I’m a salesman?” Tim spun around. “He thinks I’m a salesman!”
From across the room, Ben laughed, then hurried to them. “Tim doesn’t get paid for being here,” he explained. “He helps run the foundation that opened this gallery. Tim’s an artist. He had his first exhibition here.”
Jason didn’t care. His face was burning because he felt a mixture of embarrassment and anger. How was he to know that Tim didn’t work here? Or that he was an artist? Oh god! Maybe that bunny painting was his, and Jason had stood there making fun of it. But Tim could have said something, could have explained what he did here instead of making Jason feel awkward. Of course Tim was only talking to him at all because Ben was forcing him to.
“I think I need some fresh air,” Jason said, heading for the door.
He was around the corner and in the main room when he heard Ben speak.
“Don’t make that face! How is he supposed to know anything about you when you keep avoiding him?”
Rolling his eyes, Jason shoved his way outside. He waited by the car, leaning against the back of it so he wouldn’t have to face the gallery. Tim was smoking hot. That had to be the only reason Ben liked him. All this stuff about him being a magical creature? Bullshit! Tim was a donkey. A mule. An ass.
A familiar feeling rose up in Jason. Time to get out of here, make an excuse and go back to the group home… Except he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was too old for such things now, and he’d lost his apartment. He was stuck here. For the moment, at least.
Jason sighed. He’d have to make the best of it until he saved enough money to get his own place. Until then, Tim wouldn’t have to avoid him because he wouldn’t even know Jason was there. That’s how little they would see of each other.
* * * * *
The scalloped potatoes were great. The big slab of steak that went with them was a little dry, but nothing a healthy dose of ketchup couldn’t fix. The vibe at the table,
that
was the problem. Ben tried to be sociable and kept bringing up pleasant topics for Jason to latch on to. They even moved to the couch, bringing their plates with them, which was wonderfully casual. Not that it helped, since Ben’s eyes kept returning to the front of the house, as if he would find Tim standing in the entryway. Jason didn’t bother looking or even listening for his car. He knew the deal. Tim would do everything possible to avoid him, and Jason would do likewise.
He realized it wasn’t fair to hog Ben like this, so tomorrow Jason would make himself scarce. He wasn’t here to wreck their relationship. Nor was he here to fix it.
Foster home number fourteen
. That one had been a real nightmare; a childless couple just entering their forties who clearly didn’t like each other. One of them decided a kid could salvage their broken marriage, maybe thinking that’s what other couples had that they didn’t. What Jason remembered most was the way they fixated on him, desperate to interact with anyone but each other. That’s why Jason had found a way to lock them in the garage together. Eventually they dismantled the electric garage door just to get out. Hell, maybe them working together helped fix their relationship. Regardless, they sent him back to the care home.
Once dinner was over, Jason insisted on doing the dishes alone. When he returned to the living room, Ben was leaning against the back of the couch, petting Samson who napped there. Occasionally he still glanced toward the front door. He looked up when Jason entered, almost hopeful, like Tim had snuck in through the kitchen window or something. Then he must have realized his behavior, because he stood fully as if determined.
“You know what? Go get your guitar. What this house needs is some music!”
Jason didn’t need more prompting than that. He raced up the stairs—Chinchilla chasing after him—and grabbed his guitar from its new stand. When he was back downstairs, he was happy to see Ben wearing the same grin he was. This was going to be fun!
“What can you play?” Ben asked him.
“What can you sing?” Jason challenged back.
“All right. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of Roberta Flack.”
“Nope. Know anything by Steely Dan?”
Ben shook his head. “Sorry. I really liked No Doubt’s new album.”
Jason grimaced. “How about Fleetwood Mac?”
“I’ve heard of them,” Ben said. “But I can’t really name one of their songs.”
“Sure you can.” Jason started strumming. “The Cranberries did a cover of
Go Your Own Way
that the radio stations played to death.”
Ben perked up. “Oh yeah! I’ve sung that one a million times.”
“There we go,” Jason said, playing louder now.
Ben definitely knew the lyrics, probably finding significance in them. Jason nodded his head approvingly, loving the way the song didn’t waste any time launching into the chorus. When it did, he nearly dropped the guitar because Ben positively belted out those lyrics, and not in a shouty amateur kind of way. His voice had power, and holy shit, was it beautiful! Jason had to force himself to concentrate on the chords, because most of him wanted to stop and listen. When the song came to an end, he simply let his jaw drop and shook his head.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Ben said, laughing. “That thing sounds better than I expected it to, considering how beat up it is.”
“Tell me about it,” Jason said, looking down at his guitar. The poor thing was in worse shape than ever. Now, in addition to being cracked and peeling in places, it had a hole in the side of the body. That had happened during a moving accident when he and Steph had first gotten their apartment.