Page 14

14

MICHAEL

I get to Patrick’s apartment early and don’t want to seem too eager, so I do the next worst thing possible—start fussing with my hair in the rearview mirror. It’s like a fifty-car-pileup on the freeway. When I move one strand of hair to the left, it dislodges a curl I didn’t even realize I had. I push, pull, flip, flop, beg, pray, and eventually give up.

Sighing, I go to return the mirror to its normal position when I see the panicked look in my eyes. Why am I so nervous? Something about this date feels different. Like, Patrick could be the one. What the heck am I thinking? I’ve been on dates that didn’t even last two hours and I never saw them again. What makes me think this is going to be different?

I smile. Are those crow’s feet? When did I get so old? Thirty-five is old? “Hi, Patrick.” I practice in the mirror. “What’s going on?” Duh, what a stupid question. We’re going to a concert, that’s what’s going on. I shift the mirror back to its regular position and shake my head. Better not practice too much, I’m liable to sound like one of those automated intelligence programs, like when I ask the phone for help. That annoying, fake, pleasant voice, that says, “This is what I found.” And no matter what I ask and what she finds, it’s never what I was looking for.

The time on my dashboard clock nudges me into action. It’s time, and I need to get to the door before I’m late. No sense in getting here early and then being late. I open the car door and get out. As I turn, close the door, and lock it with a touch of my finger on the door handle, a woman approaches me from behind.

“Hey, sugar,” she says. “Can I interest you in some of this?” She jiggles her breasts and smiles. She’s missing most of the bottom row of teeth, but the tops are all there. It’s clear she’s a prostitute, and I can’t help but wonder if her teeth were knocked out by a John.

“No, thanks,” I say. There’s no point in flashing my badge, I don’t want to ruffle her feathers or start something I would have to pursue. I’m here for a date and that’s exactly what I intend on doing. “I’m here to see a friend.”

She looks disappointed, but then turns to look at the apartment I’m standing in front of and smiles again, putting her hands on her hips. “Oh, that explains it. You’re here to see sugar. You don’t go breaking his heart now. I don’t want to have to rough you up.” She puts up her hands in a playful fighting position.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

“You can call me Diamond, boo. I have a feeling we’re going to see a lot of each other if you keep coming by to see your… friend.”

“Nice to meet you, Diamond.” I turn and hurry up the steps to the second floor where Patrick’s apartment is located.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly before raising my hand and knocking on the door. A few seconds pass like uncomfortable minutes, my brain already trying to make excuses as to why he wouldn’t be home. Before I manage to convince myself to leave and drown my sorrows in a beer or three, the door swings open wide.

Patrick stands there looking like a dream come true. He’s in good shape, slender, but not waif. He isn’t as tall as I am, in fact, he looks a good six or seven inches shorter than me—why I hadn’t noticed this before I don’t know. But what really impresses me is the smile on his face and the spark in his eyes. Everything I’ve learned about reading people as a police officer tells me he’s excited to see me.

“Michael,” he says. “It’s great to see you.”

“You look fantastic,” I say. “I hope I’m not underdressed.”

He looks me up and down with a twinkle of sexual hunger in his eyes. Shaking his head, he says, “Not at all. Would you like to come in while I finish getting ready?”

Patrick steps aside while I walk into the apartment. As I brush past him, I catch the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. Whatever it is that he’s wearing, soap or cologne, does it for me. I follow him into the living room, unsure as to where I should sit.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks. “White wine… vodka and soda?”

“Nothing for me,” I say. “I figured I’d drive us to the concert. But thank you.”

Patrick smiles. “I know you’re a cop and you have to obey all the laws and stuff, but I like the good boy in you.”

What do I say to that? The way his gaze consumes my chest before slowly moving southward to my cock, I can tell he’s imagining what I would look like without all these clothes on. To be fair, I already sized him up by the time I walked into the apartment. He’s thin, but muscular. The way his shoulders bulge underneath the tight t-shirt he’s wearing tells me he doesn’t see himself the way the rest of the world does—all man.

I’ve seen this before in guys I dated. It seems that they want desperately to hold onto their youth at all costs, dressing younger than their age would seem appropriate. Although, I can’t say that Patrick is quite like those other guys. He wants to get into Hollywood, but he doesn’t seem shallow enough or hung up on his look or brand.

Looking at my watch, I say, “We should probably leave soon if we’re going to catch the opening act.”

“Oh, crap,” he says. “You’re right. Sorry, I got distracted.” He turns and rushes deeper into the apartment and closes the door behind him.

I choose the sofa to sit and wait on while he gets ready. The sofa looks comfortable, but as I lower myself onto the cushion it becomes all too obvious it isn’t meant for someone my height or weight. Sinking deeper into the sofa like quicksand, the more I move the further I go. It isn’t long before I realize I’m going to have to roll myself out and onto the floor to escape.

And I do just that.

Quickly, I stand and straighten out my clothes. What the heck is that couch made of anyway? Cotton candy? All looks and no substance? Lifting the cushion I immediately see the problem. The sofa is old and put together like an old 1970s sofa bed my grandmother had before she passed away. The springs that hold the frame together and keep the sofa bed from falling through the frame and resting on the floor are either broken or no longer attached.

I kneel down and begin fixing what I can. The springs are old, a few rusted. The bandage fixes I’m making won’t last long, but they’ll do until Patrick can get a new couch.

“Oh, crap,” Patrick says as he rounds the corner from the hallway. “You sat on the sofa, didn’t you? I was going to suggest the chair, but again… got distracted.” The sheepish look on his face is so cute I could pinch his cheeks and plant a kiss right on his lips.

Nodding, I smile. “Had to roll out onto the floor to escape her clutches. How old is this thing?”

He laughs. “Not entirely sure. It came with the apartment. All I know is anyone heavier than a small child sinks in and can’t get back out. My best friend Tina and I watch T.V. here sometimes, but we each take one of the recliners.”

“Seems reasonable,” I say and stand. “I’ve reattached the springs… or at least the ones that aren’t broken.”

“No way,” Patrick leans in to get a better view. “I tried a hundred times to stretch them far enough to reconnect, but they seemed unmovable.”

“What can I say,” I say showing my hands. “I guess these meat hooks are good for something.”

Patrick’s face turns red, and he appears flustered. “Should… we get going?” He turns away from me and begins rummaging through a backpack on the kitchen table. “My damn keys have to be in here.” He shakes the bag.

The sound of keys tinkling inside renews his efforts.

“Can I help?” I ask.

“Here they are,” Patrick exclaims and pulls the ring of keys from the bottom of the bag. “That’s weird, my badge and keycard are missing.”

“From work?” I guess as the apartment doesn’t look like it’s high-tech enough to require a keycard.

He nods with a huff. “Well, I’m sure they’re in the bag somewhere, but we don’t have time to look for them right now anyway. Shall we go?”

I follow Patrick to the door and then outside where I wait for him to lock up. We hurry to the car and get inside where I turn and look at him. “Patrick?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you decided to come with me to the concert. I didn’t think I could be more excited about seeing Lady Dame but having you along with me is going to make it even better.”

Patrick’s expression changes. The look in his eye softens and the way the redness blotches his cheeks is so endearing. He smiles at me, sincere and true. The butterflies in my belly come alive and threaten to make my hands tremble with excitement.

“I am so happy to come along with you, Michael. I haven’t had a date I’ve looked forward to this much in a very long time.”

“That makes the two of us,” I say as I pull out onto the street and into the L.A. traffic.

This is going to be the best concert ever.