Destiny Calling
Fabian Black
Copyright © Fabian Black 2012
Smashwords Edition
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Author Website: http://www.fabianblackromance.com
Cover Art by Dare Empire
Published by Chastise Books
Chapter one - Shakespeare on a Litterbin
Chapter three - Beware the Ides of March
Chapter four - Destiny Calling
Chapter six - Come to the Cabaret Old Col
Chapter seven - The Moaning After the Night Before
Chapter nine - The Vanished Man
Chapter ten - Bastard Pig Face Derek
Chapter twelve - Silence of the Sam
Chapter thirteen - Better Late Than Never
Chapter fourteen - Naughty Christopher Robin
Chapter sixteen - The Fly on the Wall
Chapter seventeen - Travel Sick
Chapter eighteen - Room Service
Chapter nineteen - The Naked Egyptian
Chapter twenty - Goodnight Sweet Ladies
Chapter twenty-one - Lobby Talk
Chapter twenty-two - Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Chapter twenty-three - Brute in a Suit
Chapter twenty-four - Frankie Goes AWOL
Chapter twenty-five - Running of the Bull
Chapter twenty-six - Confessions
Chapter twenty-seven - Home and Dry
“If thou remember'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not loved.”
William Shakespeare - As You Like It.
Destiny Calling
Chapter one - Shakespeare on a Litterbin
The first time I saw Sam he was entertaining an audience in a HMV store. Not in any official capacity, he hadn’t been hired. It was strictly voluntary. He was dancing and singing along to a track from the album on sales promotion that week - The Sixties Turn Fifty. The track in question, an upbeat number called 'Boom-Boom' was by The Animals. I think it's fair to say that lead singer Eric Burdon, being a tough Tyneside lad, would never have dreamed of strutting his stuff in quite the way Sam was doing.
The audience was enjoying the impromptu show. Sam had a pleasant voice and a sexy way of moving. From my point of view it made a mundane Saturday a whole lot brighter. He presented an attractive figure: slim, fair-haired, five feet eight or thereabouts. He was dressed in faded black jeans, a white t-shirt and a short-sleeved red-checked shirt. Dark sunglasses completed the look.
I wasn't the only one attracted. A couple of girls in the audience were just as appreciative, discussing Sam's attributes (nice arse) with one of them adding a sorrowful footnote about it being a shame he was gay. Her friend chimed back with, "wish I was a gay bloke. I'd have some of that."
Personally I thought they were being presumptuous with regard to the entertainer's sexuality. It's all too easy to make assumptions based on the way someone acts and looks. That said my gaydar was bleeping some pretty strong signals indicating he was one of my lot.
My amusement at his antics was tempered with concern, and a little conjecture on my own part. Having had a sister who performed similar acts in public when the mood befell her, I was aware such highlights, if they could be so called, were often followed by lows of suicidal magnitude.
My sister Suzie ended her life in a quiet beauty spot after the break up of a fledgling romance; at least we guessed it's why she did it. She left no note. She drove there one fine spring day, locked all the doors of her car, doused herself in petrol and struck a match. The coroner decreed her dental records were sufficient to identify her. We buried what amounted to her cremated remains beneath a headstone bearing her name and the dates of her birth and death.
My parents and older sister were devastated, as was I, but curiously we all experienced a kind of peace as she was laid in the grave. My father grasped my hand, saying quietly, ‘she’s at rest now, son.’ And then he wept, not because she was dead, but because he’d never been able to give her rest in her lifetime. It hurt to his soul that only death could offer peace to his youngest daughter. Why her, he’d say, why did God make her like that, why was God so cruel to her?
I'm not sure about God. Suze was certainly a victim of something, nature perhaps, genetics. She had not wilfully chosen to be afflicted by what amounted to periodic bouts of insanity, which wiped away all trace of the girl we loved leaving a tormented stranger in her place. She was a confused mix of elements that none of us, least of all her, understood. In her lucid best moments she was sweet, funny, clever and loving. She had been an enigma, and in his unique way so was Sam.
The enigma in question was about to be moved on by two thickset security guards who obviously didn’t appreciate him being enigmatic on the shop floor they patrolled. It probably contravened some code of shoppers conduct. ‘Thou shalt not be enigmatic on the premises of a public limited company during opening hours.’
“All right, enough carry on. You’ve had your fun, clear off.” One of them reached out a paw to grasp Sam’s arm.
Sam, being higher than a dry leaf in a cyclone, chose, I use the word deliberately, Sam was in an excited mood, but he was in conscious control of his actions. He chose, much to the delight of the onlookers, to interpret the move as a desire on the part of the guard to dance with him.
Enthusiastically flinging both arms around the man's neck he planted a smacking kiss on his cheek and declared, “of course I’ll dance with you, darling.”
The guard flushed a shade of puce I have yet to see reproduced on any paint colour chart and tried desperately to disentangle himself from the arms of his amorous dance partner. Sam clung like a limpet to a rock.
I must confess to the sin of being amused at the expression on the security officer’s face. His co-worker, much relieved that Sam had nabbed his mate and not him, quipped, “you’ll be all right there, Harry. I think pansy boy fancies you.”
The smile was soon wiped from his face as the person in charge of the music, obviously someone with a misguided sense of humour, changed the disc and Queen’s 'Don't Stop Me Now' rang out.
Sam gave an affected high-pitched squeal. It set my teeth on edge, a premonition of things to come had I but known it. “I love Queen, fabbest band ever. We must dance to this...you too, fat boy. Let’s tone that flab.” Reaching out he grabbed the second guard and pulled him into the arena, so to speak.
Provocatively thrusting his hips forward into the groin of one guard and his bottom back into the groin of the other, Sam attempted to out-sing and out-innuendo the late Freddie Mercury himself. He played to the audience for all he was worth, camping it up outrageously.
The red-faced guards were beginning to lose their cool and when Sam suddenly brandished one of their wallets, which he’d expertly lifted from a pocket, things got decidedly ugly.
Face down on the floor with his arm bent high up behind his back, Sam started to panic, cursing and struggling in vain to free his arm. There was a tone in his voice I recognised from experiences with my sister when nurses (who had missed their vocation as concentration camp officers) restrained her. Fear was beginning to replace excitement.
Before I knew it I’d invited myself to the party. “There’s no need to treat him so roughly. Let him up please.”
“This is nothing to do with you, mate, so piss off!” The guard holding Sam’s arm up behind his back tightened his grip causing him to let rip with another torrent of obscenities.
The other guard began talking about calling the police. I nodded agreement. “I think the police are a good idea. You’re aware of course you’ve committed an assault against this young man. I’m sure all these good people will be willing to testify to it.”
Three quarters of the good people immediately melted away, but the few who remained seemed in agreement. I of course had absolutely no idea of what legal ground, if any, I stood on. After all Sam was making a public nuisance of himself and he had lifted someone’s wallet, even if he had meant it as a joke.
“He was only having a laugh and larking about,” said a girl with phlegm coloured hair and a studded tongue, which clacked against her upper teeth as she spoke. “He didn’t mean no harm, leave him alone.” There was a murmur of agreement.
“Besides,” I said, lowering my voice and jumping in with my unconfirmed theory. “I think he might have a mental health problem, so calling the police would be pointless.” At those words a certain look crossed the men’s faces. I’d seen it all before, fear mixed with contempt.
The guard holding Sam’s arm dropped it as if it were infectious. “Get him out of here. Bloody loonies and queers ought to be locked up away from decent folk.”
I hunkered down, quietly asking Sam if he were hurt. He shook his head and I helped him to his feet. Bouncing back like a rubber ball he gave me a heart-stopping smile, brushed himself down, adjusted his sunglasses and with an extravagant and very lewd thrusting of his pelvis, echoed Freddie's words about being a sex-machine.
“Come on, show queen.” I cut short the chorus, took his arm and towed him towards the exit.
He sang all the way, ceasing only as we reached the doors to blow kisses to the small knot of spectators still watching and to yell at the security men. “See you later, butch boys.”
There was a ripple of laughter and a burst of applause, which spurred him into behaving even more outrageously. “I’m game if you are," he shouted, hands on hips femme fatale style. “Show me your two-way radio and I’ll show you mine. We can fiddle with each other's knobs.”
“Move it, rude boy.” Resisting a strong compulsion to slap his naughty backside I propelled him through the automatic doors and out onto the street as the furious guards strode towards us. He pulled away from me leaping agilely on top of the large black litterbin standing outside the shop.
I groaned as he began reciting the Friends, Romans, and Countrymen speech from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. It seemed he was a drama queen in more ways than one. I tugged at the leg of his jeans. “What’s your name?”
“Antony of course,” he said breaking off to stare down at me, “haven’t you read Julius Caesar? Tell you what, darling, I’ll cast you a role. You can be the third plebeian or the fourth if you prefer. Have you learned your lines, not that it matters, improvise, dear, improvise.”
“Okay Antony, catching sight of the security people from the corner of my eye I lost patience with his antics. They were just waiting for a chance to pounce again. “It’s time for you to start behaving yourself.” Reaching up I grasped his wrist, yanked him down from the bin and began dragging him protesting across the road to where I'd parked my car.
“We were just starting to get an audience, now you’ve spoiled it. I was bringing culture to the ignorant masses.”
“Be quiet!” I gave him a fierce look, “or I’ll hand you over to those two ignorant Alsatians to tear apart.”
He pouted, but made no attempt to free his hand from mine. “Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“Whose home?”
“Yours.”
“My, but you do move fast, cheeky, inviting yourself to look at my etchings and us virtual strangers. How do you know where I live anyway? Have you been stalking me you bad man?”
Stifling a desire to gag him I said, “I don’t know where you live, but when we get to my car, you’re going to tell me and I’m going to drive you there.”
“What if I refuse?” He puckered his lips coquettishly. “Will you put me under torture, pluck my eyebrows, paint my nails, perm my hair, pierce my navel?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his daft banter, “no, of course not.”
“Oh shame, I could do with a makeover.”
The smile he turned on me was truly enchanting and my stomach performed a small somersault. Something lower down also stirred. “What’s your real name?” We reached the car and I unlocked it. He slid easily on to the front passenger seat.
“Sam, but my friends call me Sam.” He opened and rummaged in the glove compartment withdrawing my work diary, nonchalantly flicking through it.
“Give me that. It's private.” Plucking it out of his hands I flung it on the back seat.
He began rifling through my CD collection. “So what’s your name then?”
“Colin.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Divorced?”
“No.”
“Living with someone?”
“No.”
“Seeing someone?”
“NO!”
“You poor thing.” He grabbed my right hand and stroked it. “I hope you’re not overworking this little fellow, don’t want repetitive strain injury do we, darling.”
I blushed. I actually blushed. Snatching my hand away, I slammed the car door and walked round to the driver’s side and climbed in.
“Well, Colin,” he flicked a derisive finger towards my discs. “If you and I are going to start dating you’ll have to woo me with some better music than this. I’m not into classical.”
“Sam,” I said, feeling suddenly weary. “Tell me your address, so I can get you home, and incidentally we are not going to start dating.”
He folded his arms. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.”
“Get used to what?” I looked at him in puzzlement.
“The classical crap. I suppose I could get used to it, when we start dating.”
“You won’t have to get used to it, because we are not going to start dating. Apart from anything else I’m straight.”
“Don’t be silly, darling, of course you’re not. I can tell by the way you part your hair that you fancy me.”
“You can tell no such thing.” I said waspishly. He was an exasperating creature.
“I can so and anyway you came to my rescue, my knight.” He clapped his hands over his heart and said breathily, “my hero. I pledge my life to thee, body and soul. Do what you like with the soul, darling, but be gentle with the body, it’s fragile. Have you filed your nails lately?”
“Stop arsing about and give me your address. You need to get home and calm down before you get yourself in real bother.”
“Not until you agree to take me out.”
I leaned across him and opened the car door, “right, that’s it, get out, just go, go on.”
“Okay.” He swung his legs out of the car, “but I’m going to go right back and goad those gorillas into having me arrested. I’ve already been arrested for public affray this month. I expect I’ll go down this time. I’ll get horribly brutalised in prison by bull queers who use soap for anything but washing, and it’ll be all your fault.”
I had the strongest conviction he meant what he said. I doubted he’d get sent to prison, but all the same I didn’t like the idea of him being arrested. Against my better judgement I told him to shut the car door.
“With me on the inside or the outside?”
“INSIDE!” I wasn’t normally given to bouts of explosive shouting, but really he’d try the patience of a Buddhist Monk.
“No need to shout, dear, I’m not deaf.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Stop playing the professional gay archetype and give me your address or I’ll throttle you.”
“I’m beginning to regret agreeing to go out with you, Colin. You’ve got a pithy tongue and a bit of a temper. Still, none of us are perfect, not even me. I’m willing to give you a chance. I like tall, dark-haired men and you’ve got nice eyes, both of them brown. I'm impressed.”
“Address?” My teeth were gritted so hard I feared for the enamel.
“When are you taking me out?”
“This evening.”
“Time?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Where are we going, casual or formal? Do I need to polish my tiara and get my tux out of mothballs?”
“Cinema and a drink afterwards.”
He smiled, “casual, thank God. I haven’t got any mothballs, let alone a tux. I do have a faux diamond tiara though. I look absolutely adorable in it. I’ll model it for you sometime if you’re very good.”
“Sam?” I jumped in as he paused for breath. I was beginning to feel hysterical.
“What, darling?”
“Shut up or I’ll lock you in the boot of the car. I’ve struck my end of the bargain; now give me your address.”
“Bargain! You make me sound like something you picked up cheap in the sales. Good job I’m not easily offended. I don’t let just anyone drag me out of a shop you know, especially when I’m on the verge of scoring a hot double date. Starsky and Hutch were beginning to waver I’m sure of it, another few minutes and I'd have turned them, they'd have become gay just…”
Catching the dangerous gleam in my eye, he cut himself short and gave me his address. I heaved a sigh of relief. Killer smile or not, I had absolutely no intention of turning up for the ‘date.’ This voluble young man was big trouble and I liked an uncomplicated life. I glanced at him, “seatbelt.”
He ran a finger along my seatbelt, saying, “there it is, sweetheart, you’re already wearing it. I saw you clunk-click with my very own eyes.”
Overcoming an urge to rip his head off, I snarled, “I meant your seatbelt, fasten it.”
“I never wear a seatbelt, darling, creases my shirt.”
“Your shirt is already creased, now fasten the seatbelt.”
“Nope, don’t like. I’m a bohemian. I refuse to conform to society’s petty rule.” He folded his arms.
I could feel my blood pressure approaching levels requiring medication. Unbuckling my seatbelt and getting out of the car, I marched round to the passenger side. Flinging open the door I leaned in, grabbed the seatbelt and buckled it around him. The moment I closed the door he un-clicked it. With a hiss of fury I flung the door back open. “Fasten your seatbelt or our date is off. I mean it, Sam.” I quelled a pang of guilt at using the fictitious date as a blackmail tool, reminding myself accidents happened and I didn’t want to see him flying through the windscreen for lack of a seatbelt. All else aside it was a requirement of law. I almost said so, but after his bohemian statement it seemed a waste of breath.
He hesitated for a moment and then fastened the seatbelt. I got back in the car. Giving me his beautiful smile, he pointed both index fingers forwards. “Home, Jeeves, and don’t spare the horses.”
Quenching a grin of amusement I said, "I think you mean home, James.”
“I thought your name was Colin, not James?”
“It is, I was talking about the saying you used, it’s home James, not Jeeves.”
“I prefer Jeeves to James. I knew a James once, horrible boy, he used to pick his nose and wipe it under the seat of his chair. I hope you don’t have such disgusting habits, otherwise I’ll have to reconsider your request to take me out.”
I shook my head. “You seriously need taking in hand."
"Maybe you're the man to do it, darling, what say you?"
I said nothing. Thrusting the car in gear I set off.
It was horrible. I gazed at the ugly dilapidated building in dismay. It was a crumbling concrete monstrosity, a hideous monument to the dark days of sixties architecture at the low end of the social scale. “This is where you live?”
He nodded, un-popping his seatbelt. “Home sweet home. My own Graffiti Palace. Come and have a drink with me, Colin, hot or cold, I've got both. Don’t worry.” He must have caught the expression on my face. “The place was recently fumigated.”
I found myself agreeing to his offer, although the only thing I really wanted to do was drive away. At least if I had a coffee with him I’d know he was safe at home. Hopefully he’d stay there until he was feeling less inclined to be the centre of attention in a way guaranteed to land him in trouble. I followed him into the high-rise block and up the stairs to his fifth floor flat; as is usually the case in such places the lifts weren't working.
The building was even worse inside than it was outside, run down and smelling of damp neglect. It became apparent why he’d referred to it as Graffiti Palace. The lobby walls were adorned with drawings and scribblings, most of them obscene. He inserted his key into the lock of a battered door where someone had spray painted the words ‘Queers Out!’ Underneath it someone else had sprayed, ‘we ARE out, so fuck off!’ It didn’t need a genius to work out the identity of the second graffiti artist.
“Shit!” The key refused to open the door and Sam kicked at it, yelling furiously. “Let me in you evil fucker!”
There was no reply and Sam kicked the door again, which did nothing to improve its appearance. “Bastard, he’s bolted it. I’ll be stuck out here all day while he shags his scabby boyfriend gormless.” He raised his voice, shouting, “not that it’ll take long cos he’s fucking gormless to start with!”
“Who’s he?”
“The sour-faced stoat I share the flat with.”
“Look, Sam, I’m sorry,” I glanced at my watch, “but I’ve got to be going. I'm meeting a couple of friends. Will you be okay?”
He nodded. Removing his sunglasses for the first time he hooked them in the neck of his t-shirt and gazed at me for a moment before lowering his heavy lashes. I repressed, or at least I hope I did, a start of surprise. His eyes were two different colours.
Leaning his back against the wall he slid down it to sit on the dirty floor, drawing his knees up under his chin. “I’ll be okay. He’s always doing this. I'll get in later when he goes out to the pub.” He plucked at the beginnings of a hole in the knee of his jeans. “You’re going to stand me up tonight aren’t you?”
His cheeky bravado vanished. He looked young and somehow vulnerable. I swallowed hard and squatted down beside him. “Sam, I’m so sorry, but you’re not my type."
"Not the right kind of gay, is that it, a bit too pink instead of butch boy blue?"
There was an element of truth there, but I didn't say so. I was rather ashamed of it. "You’re too young. You must be all of eighteen. I wanted to get you off the street and safely home before you landed in real trouble.”
“I’m older than I look,” he gazed at me eagerly from his extraordinary eyes. “I’m twenty-four, that’s not too young.”
“It is for me. I like men my own age. I’m thirty-four, much too old for you. You need an energetic young thing to go dancing with. My clubbing days are long gone. To be honest I was never much of a club animal to start with.”
He scowled, not believing a word I was saying. “It’s my eyes isn’t it, they repel you?”
I shook my head, “it isn’t your eyes. Your eyes are...well it isn’t them.” I was going to say, oddly attractive, but stopped myself, because it didn’t sound right and he might take exception to the word ‘odd.’
“If mine eye offend thee, pluck it out,” he misquoted dramatically. “Go on.” He thrust his face towards me. “Pick a colour, any colour and pluck out the one you don’t like, then I can wear a patch and you can date me. I’d look quite dashing with a patch. I could pretend to be a pirate. I’ll show you my cutlass. It's a beauty, cuts like a dream.”
“Stop it, Sam, you’re being silly. It’s nothing to do with your eyes. I don’t want to date you.” I took a deep breath, “are you on medication of any kind, are you using it properly?”
He decided to be offended. “Who the fuck are you to think I need medication, what a bloody nerve.”
“I meant no offence and you know it. My sister had bipolar disorder, you remind me a bit of her. She often did inappropriate things when she was in a manic cycle and overexcited. You seemed overexcited back there.”
“Had bipolar, is she cured now?”
“She died, sixteen months ago.”
“Oh, that’s sad. I’m sorry, Colin.”
I gave him a small smile. “Thank you, now tell me, do you or do you not take medication?”
“No, I don't trust drugs.” He looked away from me.
“Are you supposed to take them?”
“Preferring not to blend in with the crowd doesn’t make me mental, it makes me unique. I want to be an actor. I have to stand out.”
“There are more appropriate and safe ways of standing out. If you've been prescribed meds you should take them. Take them for your own sake, to keep yourself well.”
Keeping his head turned away from me, he executed a fair impression of Hugh Laurie, speaking with a fake American accent, “and who are you to hand out medical advice, Doctor Gregory House?”
“It doesn’t need a doctor to state the obvious, Sam.” I stood up. “Take good care of yourself.” I walked away down the dingy hall.
When I reached the stairwell, something compelled me to look back. He was watching me, arms folded on top of his knees. He fluttered his fingers in a little gesture of farewell. It was probably the light, but for a moment I thought I detected a gleam of tears in his eyes. A part of me wanted to rush back down the hall and give him a cuddle. I told it not to be bloody ridiculous and it joined the rest of me in walking down the stairs.
I returned home and got on with the business of living my life, striving to put Sam out of my mind, though a glimpse of faded black jeans always set my heart ticking a little faster, until I saw it wasn’t him.
For a few weeks after my encounter with him I always seemed to need another CD to add to my collection, and would spend some considerable time going through what was on offer in HMV. I saw the mongrel security guards, who didn’t spare me a second glance, but no Sam. On some peculiar and irrational whim I bought the Sixties CD, slipping it in amongst the Mozart’s and Beethoven’s without ever playing it.
As the weeks passed I stopped thinking about him altogether, or at least on a daily basis. In time he'd turn into just another memory stored deep within my brain, something to surface at odd moments, perhaps in a dream, or years down the line when something, some flash of colour or a snatch of song would trigger remembrance of a beautiful smile and a flamboyant young man with unusual eyes. Maybe then I’d experience a stab of sad regret for a missed date.
I put the stabs I already had down to indigestion and pressure of work. All my instincts told me I’d done the right thing in not getting involved with Sam. It would have been sheer folly.
Chapter three - Beware the Ides of March
One cool dewy morning in mid May I opened my front door to pick up the milk from the porch step and found myself staring at an empty bottle, and Sam.
He was curled up fast asleep, his head resting on a bulky backpack. He was thinner than I remembered and more unkempt. The tiny hole in the knee of his jeans had grown up into a full sized rip. He was wearing his sunglasses and tucked under his arm was a shabby soft toy, a bear or dog, I couldn’t quite tell. Whatever it was it had one green eye and one bright blue, just like him. The heavy glasses hid Sam’s own eyes, but did nothing to conceal the bruising on the rest of his face, or the healing cuts on his lips. There was bruising on his hands and wrists, too, as if he'd used his hands to try and protect his face. It hadn't worked too well as a defence action.
Bending, I gave the sleeping figure a gentle shake. Sam, obviously thinking he was in bed mumbled and tried to turn over, rolling off the doorstep in the process. He uttered an expletive and sat up, gazing at me through crooked sunglasses.
“Colin, darling," he adjusted the glasses, "you look like hell. Those pyjamas are ghastly. Did your mother buy you them for Christmas? Still, at least they can be remedied.”
Something, some streak of insanity, prevented me from slamming the door in his face there and then. I pointed towards the hall, and through teeth that were already beginning to grit, growled, “get inside, now, you cheeky sod.”
“Well I must say I’ve had more gracious invitations. We really must work on your social niceties.” He rose stiffly to his feet handing me the empty milk bottle, "now we’re living together you’ll have to order orange juice, the sweetened kind. I don’t care for milk. I only drank it because I was hungry and thirsty.” He picked up his bag and stepped over the threshold.
The oddest feeling crept over me. It was the culmination of a feeling born on the March morning, March the fifteenth to be precise, when I’d first set eyes on him. “Beware the ides of March.” The soothsayer’s famous warning from Julius Caesar, the play Sam had quoted from, sprang to mind. An ice chill ran down my spine. God help me! I had been fated to meet Sam. It looked like cruel Lady Providence had decided to weave him into the cloth of my destiny.
I glanced up and down the street to see if anyone had noticed I had a man, as well as milk on my doorstep. My neighbours were a conservative bunch, jealous too and the gossip could get ugly. My hydrangea for reasons known only to God and nature is blue as opposed to the customary pink in these parts. I was still shunned by the woman at number seventeen on account of it. Gay men had no right having blue hydrangeas. I was sure she suspected me of dabbling in the black arts in an effort to throw people off the scent of my sexuality.
Closing the front door I headed for the kitchen where from the sounds of it Sam was making himself right at home. He’d changed the radio station from classic to pop and turned the volume to deafening. She at number seventeen would surely be poking a note expressing disapproval through my letterbox if he turned it up much louder. He was all but physically inside my fridge like a human Garfield, poking around its contents and muttering.
Suddenly I doubted I was ready for destiny and resolved to fight it all the way. A real man decided his own destiny instead of allowing it to be imposed upon him.
Switching off the radio, I ejected him from the fridge and steered him towards the kitchen table, plonking him onto a chair. “Are you always so forward when you get invited into someone’s home for the first time?”
“No point in being shy is there, darling. I mean we're going to be living together. I have to tell you I’m going to take over the shopping. Your fridge is full of dreary crap. You don't have so much as a square of chocolate, and you actually have salad in your salad drawer. It's perverse.”
“Sam.” I leaned over to remove his sunglasses, which I didn't think were necessary in a kitchen that didn’t get the sun first thing in the morning. “We are not living to...” I paused, arrested by the full extent of the damage to his face. His left eye was swollen closed, the lid coloured an ugly dark purple. There was a general spread of bruising around his face and dried blood around his nostrils. What really shocked me was the bruising wasn’t fresh. Judging from the way it was beginning to yellow in places it was a few days old. If his face looked this bad after several days God knows what it had looked like before. I stared, feeling slightly nauseous.
He struck a simpering pose with his chin resting on the back of his hands, winging them up to cup his face. “Do you like my new image, darling? It’s so me, don’t you think, sort of Rocky meets Mike Tyson? I've got matching accessories all over my body. I'll show you if you're very good.”
Before I could react the abused little face crumpled and tears began to trickle out of the swollen mess of his eyes. He grasped at my hands. “I'm sorry to land on you like this. I didn’t know who else to turn to."
"How did you know where to find me?"
"I memorised your address when I flicked through your diary the day you took me home. Please, let me stay, just for a while. I won’t bother you and I’ll let you have sex with me, anyway you want. I’m very flexible.”
I was suddenly angry. Angry at whoever had done this to him, angry with him for getting himself into a position where it could happen and angry at his self-mockery and the offering of his body as an inducement. It must have shown on my face because he let go of my hands and slumped back in the chair.
“Sorry.” He tried to wipe his eyes and nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “I must look a disgusting ugly mess. No wonder you don’t want to sleep with me.”
“For God sake, Sam. I barely know you. Do you offer yourself so freely to every man you meet?” Pulling off a few sheets of kitchen roll I handed them to him.
“Not every man. I’m not a complete slut you know, and I do know how to take precautions, look.” He reached into his pocket and brought forth a handful of condoms, slapping them onto the table. “Every colour of the rainbow there, surely one will take your fancy. A little hint, I look magnificent in blue.”
“Put them away and behave yourself.” I took the answer and the gesture for what it was, an attempt to recover his cheeky panache.
He dabbed at his nose and eyes with the paper towels. It obviously hurt and the tears gushed faster.
I soaked a tea towel in cool water and wrung it out, gently patting it over his battered face, cleaning away the dried blood around his nostrils. He gave me a ghost of his stunning smile. Shallow though it sounds I was pleased to note none of his teeth appeared to be damaged.
I made some tea, setting a mug in front of him. “Tell me what happened."
"Not much to tell. My stoat of a flatmate and a couple of his pals gave me a thumping as an incentive to move out so he could move his scabby boyfriend in." He began to cry afresh.
I raised him to his feet and put my arms around him, comforting him. He was trembling like a frightened child and my heart turned over with sympathy.
"I thought they were going to kill me," he sobbed. "I was so scared I almost wet myself. I can't go back and I've got nowhere else to go."
"Don't you have any family or friends?"
"None who will give me houseroom. I'm persona non grata."
"It’s all right, Sam," I murmured, gently rubbing his back. "You can stay with me for a while, until you find a new place."
Chapter four - Destiny Calling
“Listen, Colin.” Jon picked up a tea towel and began to dry the dishes I was in process of washing. “You’re my closest friend and I hope you won’t be offended, but I’m telling you that boy is a bloody world class pest. He’s taking a big lend of you, playing you for a mug.”
I heaved a sigh as I washed and put another plate on the drainer. As far as Sunday lunches went it had been an uncomfortable and stressful one. I was relieved it was over. “I’m sorry about today, Jon. Sam's been even worse than usual. I wouldn’t have blamed you for walking out. I think he acts the way he does to cover the fact he’s really quite shy.”
Jon gave a beautiful snort. It would have graced a racehorse. “Shy my left buttock! He’s a brat who revels in being the centre of attention, and he loves winding people up. It gives him a buzz.” He rubbed the tea towel across the plate so vigorously I feared for the pattern. “If he picks my pocket one more time I swear to God I’m going to thrash his backside black and blue and then I’m going to wring his neck.”
"Sorry, Jon. It's his party piece. He once played the Artful Dodger in a school production of 'Oliver.' He thinks it's funny."
"Well it isn't." He halted in his attempt to erase the pattern from my Staffordshire English Tableware to demand. “Are you having sex with him?”
The abruptness of the question startled me. I flushed. “No. I told you, he’s only staying here until he finds a new flat. There's no way he can go back to his old one, not after what happened.”
“I bet he isn't as innocent as he portrays himself. Knowing him he probably helped provoke what happened. I'm not saying it makes it right, but he does invite trouble. He wants attention, but he doesn't know how to get the right kind of attention. As for finding a new place, he doesn't seem to be making much effort. I suspect he saw you as a soft touch from the moment he met you and set out to get his foot in your door.”
“I couldn’t leave him on the street.” I placed another plate on the drainer, “not in the state he was in. I’m just helping out a fellow human being.”
Jon snorted again and I wondered if perhaps he was developing an allergy.
“Who are you trying to fool, Colin, because you’re not fooling me?” He polished the plate thoughtfully for a few moments.
I waited, knowing from experience he was mulling something over and in due course he’d share it.
“You’re attracted to that aggravating young man. I’ve seen the way you look at him and he all but throws himself at you. So why hasn’t anything happened? ”
It was a question I'd mulled over myself. "He's too young for me, don't you think? It would be taking advantage."
Jon's snort sounded again. "You're talking to the wrong man about age difference, and besides, it's utter rubbish, pure obfuscation on your part."
“Yes, okay, I’m attracted to him, but I’m not a fool, Jon. A relationship, casual or otherwise, with someone like Sam isn't something to be considered lightly. I don’t know whether I could cope with him. It’s hard enough having him as a houseguest. He’s only been here a month and already he’s wreaked havoc. The neighbours detest him. My family hates him and you and Kit are practically the only two friends who haven’t been scared off by his insults and rudeness. I had to physically stop Doug from punching him when he came round for supper on Friday night because Sam kept calling him Dog.” I paused, “by the way, Kit is still speaking to me isn’t he?”
Jon gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. “Of course he is. He really does have a bad headache today, poor boy. It's the only reason he didn’t come. He prefers to be alone when he has a migraine. I left him tucked up in bed with the curtains drawn to keep out the light. He'll feel better after a good sleep.”
We finished the washing up and then I made coffee and we sat down to chat. Our peace didn't last long. We both jumped as the kitchen door flew open and Sam flounced into the room. “So here you are. Very cosy I’m sure." Dragging out a chair he made a show of flopping down on it. “It’s a bit rude leaving me sitting all alone and I notice you didn’t offer me a cup of coffee.”
“You said you were watching television, especially when I mentioned helping with the washing up,” I said, keeping an even tone to my voice, “and you don't like coffee.”
“You could have offered me something else, tea, coke, milk, water.” He suddenly squinted. Shading his eyes with his hands he stared hard at Jon. “Jon, darling, could you possibly turn your chair away from the window, only the sun keeps glancing off your scalp and it’s dazzling me.”
“Don't be so bloody rude, Sam.” I was embarrassed by the remark, just one of many he’d made at Jon’s expense.
Jon fixed Sam with a cold look. “This is a private adult conversation so go away and find some toys to play with, little boy.”
Sam smirked. “Don’t fret I won’t repeat a single syllable I hear. I’m the very epitome of discretion, isn’t that right, Colin, my loveliness?”
“Go away, Sam, please.”
He pursed his lips, blowing me a mocking kiss. “You want me to stay really, go on admit it.”
My patience expired. Jumping to my feet I took a firm hold of his upper arm and levered him out of his chair. Marching him across the kitchen I thrust him out into the hall. “Go to your own room, Sam, out of the way,” I said and then hesitated, finishing lamely “or go out for a walk, just find something, anything to do. This is my house and I want some space without you crowding me and being obnoxious to my friends. I’m sick of your snide remarks. You've got no manners at all.”
He rubbed his arm in an exaggerated manner. “Fine. I’ll take my offensive, unwanted presence elsewhere.” Snatching his sunglasses from the hall table he stormed out, slamming the front door behind him.
“Don’t feel guilty.” Jon read me like a book as soon as I walked back into the kitchen. “If you’d gone with your instincts you’d have dealt with him properly and insisted he go to his own room, in fact you'd have taken him there and given the troublemaker’s arse a slap into the bargain. You're entitled to some privacy under your own roof.”
He took a swig of coffee and set his mug down. “Sam wants you, Colin, any fool can see that, but he’s greedy, he wants all of you. He doesn’t want to share you with anyone. It’s why he’s alienating your friends and family, cutting down the competition. May I give you some advice?”
I sat back down, trying to blink away the memory of the hurt look on Sam’s face as he’d stormed out. “Do I have a choice?”
Jon laughed and gave me a small wink, “nope, you’re going to be advised whether you like it or not.” He took a deep breath. “Get rid of him. He’s bad news. Pack his stuff now and put it on the doorstep. Don't let him back into the house. Tell him to get on his way and then forget you ever met him.”
A current of shock ran through me at his words.
Leaning across the table Jon placed his index finger under my chin and gently closed my mouth. “I didn’t think you wanted to hear such stark advice. In which case,” he leaned back in his chair. “Decide what kind of relationship you want with him. If his pretty little arse is all you're lusting after then take it. I don't think he'll object to being bedded by you. Have a few days of fun fucking him and then get rid of him and get on with your life."
"I couldn't treat Sam like that. It wouldn't be right."
"Then you're more than just physically attracted to him. God knows why, but you are. You see something in him that escapes the rest of us."
"He can be good company believe it or not, sweet and funny too, he makes me laugh."
"I'll take your word for it," said Jon dryly. "Pardon me, Colin, but I'm going to put on my official Top's hat and deliver a lecture. I’ve been watching the way Sam acts around you. To my mind he’s pushing you to take charge of him. I've met young men like him before. I know the type. They crave structure and security, only they don't always realise it and they don't know how to ask for it."
"They need looking after," I said softly before I could stop myself.
"That's another way of putting it." Jon smiled as if I'd confirmed something he already knew. He went on, "I think you need to decide whether or not you're willing to commit to a relationship with the boy. If the answer is yes, then do something about it. State your intentions and then take him in hand, because he needs it. He's a loose canon and I think he's looking for someone to anchor him."
"If ‘taking him in hand’ means a relationship like yours and Kit's then I don't think I'm up to it. I'm not adverse to the idea. I think Sam might benefit from a touch of discipline. God knows I've come close to tanning his backside more than once, but I don't think I'm cut out to be a lifestyle disciplinarian. I've played the Dom in the bedroom with sex as a conclusion, but taking on the role permanently is another thing altogether. It's a big responsibility."
"Yes, it is. However, I disagree about you not being cut out for the job and I believe Sam would too. I think he senses you can give him something no one else can. Why do you think he came looking for you when he was hurt and frightened? Follow your gut instincts. Give him the attention he craves, but on your terms not his, or he’ll take you both to hell. I can’t honestly say I like Sam, but if you decide to try and make a go of things with him you can count on my support.”
I stared at him, considering the notion of making a go of things with Sam. It would be tantamount to making a pact with the devil. Was I ready to sell my soul?
Jon once again read my mind with startling accuracy. “Your soul is sold,” he said. “You should see your face when Lucifer smiles at you. I've known you for years, Colin, but I've never seen any man affect you the way he does.”
I started with fright, as the doorbell gave a strident ring, Sam no doubt. He was always forgetting his key.
“Destiny calling.” Jon gave me an odd little look. “It's calling you to take charge, Colin, of your future and his. Are you going to embrace or reject it?”
I said nothing, still uncertain of the answer. Rising to my feet I went to open the door.
“Why can’t you remember to take your...oh, sorry.” I halted, frozen to the spot by the icy glare of her from number seventeen.
“Your lunatic lodger,” she ground out between clenched teeth (it was funny how Sam had that effect on people’s dental fixings) "is paddling in my ornamental fish pond. If you don’t come and get him out I’m going to call the police.”
I groaned, offered profuse apologies and decided there and then the only thing I really wanted to embrace was Sam’s throat with my hands, very, very tightly. I strode up the road at such speed that her at number seventeen had to all but run to keep pace.
Sam, wading around amongst a throng of bemused goldfish greeted my arrival with a cry of delight. "Col! Come on in, the water’s divine and the little fishies tickle.”
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sam? Get out of there."
“You told me to find something to do, so I did." Bending down he scooped water into his hands and playfully splashed us with it.
I reminded myself murder still carried a heavy penalty, though in this case I doubted a jury would convict me. Mindful of the baleful eye of Mrs Seventeen boring holes of hatred into me, I snatched up his shabby trainers, grabbed a hold of his hand and yanked him out of the pond.
“Bye.” He waved cheerily to her as I dragged him down the street, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the warm pavement. “Thanks for the pool party. We must do it again sometime. It was simply ducky. Just one word of advice before I go, the lipstick you're wearing, it might look good on a corpse, but not on you, give it up, dear.”
Thrusting him into the house I banged the door behind us and slung his shoes on the floor, turning on him furiously. “Why must you do things like that?”
“I was keeping out of your precious space like you wanted.”
“You knew she’d come for me. It was another way of annoying me.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Why can’t you behave…” I broke off.
He gave a sly little grin, “normally, is that what you were going to say?”
“Properly, like a decent human being,” I snapped. “Instead of a total shit.” He blew me one of his mocking kisses and I turned and walked away before I gave into an urge to turn him over my knee and wallop his arse red raw. Jon would say it was an urge that needed to be given in to. I knew if Kit behaved even a modicum as badly as Sam did then Jon wouldn't hesitate to punish him. But unlike them, Sam and I were not involved in any kind of relationship, let alone one with a discipline dynamic.
I returned to the kitchen where Jon placed a cup of fresh sympathetic tea in front of me.
“You should have let her call the police, Colin." He looked at me, his expression serious. "You didn’t have to get involved. After all he’s not your responsibility, is he?”
I shrugged.
Jon patted my shoulder and then prepared to take his leave. “Make up your mind, Colin. Take charge of the boy before he drives you round the bend. I'm off home now to see how Kit's faring. I'll catch you later."
I saw him to his car and then watched him drive off wishing I were a passenger in it. Puffing out my cheeks I shoved my hands in my pockets and stood for a few moments before going back inside.
Taking the tea Jon had made for me into the lounge I sat down on the couch and picked up a book I was in the process of reading. I stared at the pages, but they might as well have been blank. I read the same paragraph over and over without taking in a word of it.
“Has stock cube man gone then?” Sam tripped into the room and came over to the couch, sitting down at the opposite end to me. He swung his legs up and plonked his feet on my lap.
I pushed them off and glared at him, quelling the surge of excitement that always occurred at any physical contact with him. “Stock cube man, what do you mean?”
“Oh come on, you know what I mean, your macho friend Jon." He drawled his name out. "Darling he’s so square he’s got corners. Where did you meet him, at a neo fascist rally?"
"He was an acquaintance of a boyfriend of mine, not that it's any of your business."
"What happened to the boyfriend?"
"We outgrew each other."
"Shame you didn't outgrow Jon at the same time. What do you see in him and his dull little sub? Where was pussy today by the way, at the vets?”
“Kit, his name is Kit and what I see in them is loyal friendship, an alien concept to you, along with courtesy and notions of appropriate behaviour.”
“Ooh, got our claws unsheathed today, haven’t we?” He gave me a cheeky wink. “Lack of sex, that’s what it is. It’s making you bitter. Why don’t we go upstairs and make you all sweet again?”
Closing my book with a snap I reached forward and picked up the local newspaper from the coffee table, handing it to him. “I checked it out for accommodation yesterday, there’s two or three likely prospects. I’ve ringed them for you. Make sure you follow them through tomorrow.”
Getting up I walked out of the room, picking my car keys up from the hall table, deciding to go and visit my parents rather than spend any more of the day in Sam's company. I stayed out late and he was abed when I returned, much to my relief.
Next day he bought me flowers, a bunch of white stargazer lilies. He arranged them in a pale green vase, setting them beside my bed, which he made for me. I found them when I got in from work and went up to undress in prep to shower. I was rather touched, bending to inhale their rich perfume.
I sensed being watched and turned to find him standing in the bedroom doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his shabby jeans. He smiled, one of his real smiles uncorrupted by malicious mischief. My stomach gave a familiar little ripple of pleasure and I sternly reminded it Sam was a first class nuisance and didn’t deserve its allegiance.
“I'm sorry about yesterday, Col. I don’t know why I get like that sometimes. I was a bad boy pain in the arse. I'll be the perfect housemate from now on. You won't even know I'm here.”
“It would be nice if you apologised to Jon, as well as the lady at number seventeen because you were obnoxious to them both. Thank you for the flowers, they’re lovely.” He smiled again and telling my stomach to keep a hold of its emotions I hardened myself to ask, “did you check out those flats?”
To give Sam his due he had indeed checked them out and apparently by the time he’d finished checking them out the prospective flatmates were his mortal enemies. He couldn't think why, but he just seemed to rub them up the wrong way. His little jokes seemed to go right over their heads. They obviously had no sense of humour and were homophobic to boot. One had even threatened to take out a restraining order should he dare walk past the end of her street again. I empathised with her wholeheartedly.
It seemed I was stuck with Sam for a while longer. Suddenly the scent from the flowers seemed a touch overpowering. I comforted myself with the thought he couldn’t possibly get any more infuriating than he already was.
Promises to be the model lodger amounted to a peck of dirt where Sam was concerned. He couldn’t seem to help himself.
As I drove home from work one muggy summer evening I mulled over a conversation I’d had with Jon the previous night. I’d gone to his house in an effort to obtain a few hours respite from Sam who had turned the central heating up to maximum and was wandering around the house clad in nothing but a lime green cotton sarong, while singing along to the score from South Pacific. He was getting in character he said. He'd heard rumours that the esteemed local amateur operatic society was planning a production of the musical. They'd soon be holding auditions seeking new talent to take part. If I’d had to listen to him singing ‘I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair’ one more time I would have gone mad, as well as dying from heat stroke.
Jon had offered solace in the form of a cooling drink and soothing music. He also slung in a side order of advice. “Either chuck the brat out or make a move on him and bring him under control. What are you afraid of, Colin?” He’d gazed at me astutely, “emotional commitment or is it something else, something to do with Suzie?"
I’d shrugged.