Head 01 Hot Head (42 page)

be done.
Shit
. No wonder models always looked so grouchy.

He looked over at Dante, who seemed hypnotized and blind, like his retinas had been burned by the bright lights. His mouth was open. His arms were

wrapped tightly, hugging himself to work up nerve.

Griff went to him, shaking his head in confusion. “Whatsamatter?”

Dante spoke directly to Beth in a low voice. “That one’s for me. Alek can’t have that shot.”

“Says you.” Beth was already up on a ladder, shifting the filter in front of one of the light stands. “That was fucking art! I think that’d be a heluva logo for anything.”

Dante went and stood at her knees to look up. His medium-rare mouth was a tight line. “I mean it. That picture is mine.” He poked an angry finger at Beth,

but she didn’t flinch, high on a step.

She swatted his hand away, leading with her little sharp jaw like a boxer.
Wicked pixie.
“I know. I thought you might like that.”

Dante growled. Literaly. He
growled
at her like a Doberman.

Griff roled his sore shoulders, watching in confusion, looking down at his naked muscle. “Dante, what are you gonna do with a picture of me like this?”

“Keep it.” Dante turned to look at him, dead serious. His black brows were scowling and possessive in a way that made Griff feel soft inside, made him

smile. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Griff shook his head and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not laughing. I was asking.”

From her perch, Beth regarded the sulen Italian with a cocked head and a naughty smile. She was up to something, playing him. The negotiation ping-ponged

between them.

Dante turned back to her, his arms crossed, his face a hard mask.

“Tel you what….” Beth let the words wrap him like a boa constrictor, squeezing him. “I got a beefcake calendar coming up:
Suds & Studs
. If you’l drag your scrawny carcass here and pose for me, one afternoon, buck-ass naked in a tub, you’ve got a deal. Make it two afternoons and I’l even pay you.”

“Hey!” Griff straightened up, not bothering with his dumb robe. He wasn’t sure which of them had conned the other.

“No hair gel!” She wagged a finger at him.

Dante winked and held out his hand. “Done.”

They shook.
Click
. Instant friends, like turning on a lamp. Dante and Beth turned together and smiled at him.

By the time Griff went to rinse off the oil and get dressed in the bathroom, Dante and Beth were chatting happily about apertures and filters. Beth had a line of greeting cards to finish by the new year, and would they like to make a little extra cash modeling?

Griff caught sight of his own happy face in the mirror. He finished puling on his undershirt.
Feels so good to be dressed
.

“Baby, we’re gonna order Thai.” Dante poked his head around the door.

Smiling, Griff gave him a peck that lasted a little longer than strictly necessary. “I like you caling me that.”

“That okay?”

“God, yeah! Thai sounds great. I’m starved.” Griff jerked his head toward Beth and the rest of the studio. “But… you good with…?”

“You kidding? She’s a genius! That last shot?” Dante leaned forward and bit his neck. “Crazy lesbo figured out a way to make me fal more in love with you.

And I thought that—” Dante kissed the corner of his smile. “—was impossible.”

“Stop.” But Griff smiled, rested their faces together for a moment, leaning against his man. “Likewise.”

Beth’s voice stopped them. “Guido, if you fuck him in my bathroom, I’m gonna cut that thing off and donate it to a dildo factory!”

Dante just smiled and left Griff to pul on the rest of his clothes. He grumbled at her as he left, “Yeah, yeah.”

The door didn’t quite shut. As Griff dried his bright hair and swigged water to rinse his mouth, the door creaked open slowly on the loft.

On the other side of the room, Dante was looking through a camera out the south window, and Beth was smiling up at him patiently.

The two of them laughed at something, happy pirates crossing swords. The wide blue-black sky went on forever behind them, a skyline missing the World

Trade Center but not much else.

Griff felt like he could see everything-everything-everything.

Lub-dub
, said his heart in his ears.

Right then, as surely as déjà vu
in reverse, Griff knew they’d come back, he and Dante. They’d end up modeling for crazy Beth and make the money to

make their house a home.
Humpty-Dumpty, together again
. Their families would deal with it. Loretta’s husband would come back safe. Alek would have his new website. Even Tommy would mend and live and hope. And Griff knew Dante would be standing beside him.

- Lub-dub… lub-dub
…. -

With a last glance in the mirror, wiping his hands on his pants, Griff stepped out the door into a future he could almost imagine.

GAY bar, round two, had started off on a sour note, and the whole subway ride had been nonstop grumbling and pouting from one jealous Italian.

“Hadta wear the fucking
kilt
.” Dante had his hands pushed into the pockets of his pea coat. He looked like a sinful sailor stomping around the East Vilage on a chily Friday night. Dante was glaring at everyone who even glanced at Griff—male, female, it didn’t matter.

Griff bumped shoulders with him. “I thought you liked my kilt.”

“You kidding? I love it. I
dream
about that kilt. Sheesh!” Dante stared at his muscular legs. “But so does everyone else, and I’m not sharing. Jesus. That guy just checked you out too. I’m gonna kil….” Dante turned to chalenge whoever had dared to give Griff the once over. It was like walking with a manic bodyguard.

Griff turned, but his supposed admirer had already moved on—or been scared off. He tugged at Dante to turn him back toward the Pipe Room. “We’re

helping Tommy. He’s a mess and we gotta help him out. We buy him a couple beers. Chat like normal, home again. Fuck like dogs, make me as yours as you

want.”

“Right.” Dante’s raven brows were a straight line over a scowl.

“D, I’m here with you. I’m leaving with you.”

They were a half block from the Pipe Room when Dante elbowed him. “Heads up.”

Griff looked and saw Tommy across the street sitting on steps leading up to a townhouse. He was bundled against the cold and didn’t look so hot.

They crossed the empty street toward him.
Here goes nothing.

Dante carded a hand through his hair as they walked up to the smaler man. “Hey, buddy.”

“Guys.” Tommy glanced up, then back at the concrete. His knit cap was puled low and his colar turned up. Some of his stitches were out, and the bruises

on his face had faded, mostly. His nose was stil a little crooked. And one burgundy ring lingered beside it, the stubborn residue of a black eye.

“’S’up, Dobsky.” Griff stepped closer, stomping his feet like it was colder than it was. “I thought we were gonna get a beer.”

Dante looked a question at Griff, then sat down beside the short paramedic. “Yeah, Tommy. I’m thirsty and I’m buying.”

“Yeah, no. Bad idea.” Tommy’s voice was stil muffled by his reset nose. “I’m not doing so hot out here.”

Griff shifted his weight. Maybe this had been a dumb idea. He’d thought it would be healthy: three friends grabbing a beer, Tommy seeing that being gay

didn’t have to put anyone in the ICU. “You hurting, kid?”

“Nah. But the only way you meet anybody in there is if you look good, and, uh, I
don’t
.” Tommy looked like he was about to lose his shit right there on somebody’s front steps.

Ack.

“The guys in there are gonna be cool with it, huh? They’re gonna be friendly. Hel, they are friendly.”
Tricky.
Griff had told Dante about his earlier visit, but the jealousy was already simmering.

Dante didn’t like that and shook his head at Griff. “None of us are trying to hook up, huh? We’re just sharing a beer in safe surroundings.”

Tommy shook his head. “I can’t fucking go in there. Jesus, look at me.”

“You got beat up. You stil look hot.” He gave Griff a look over Tommy’s head as if to say, “Help me out here
.
”

“I’m a monster. A fucking coward.” Then he was crying. “My fucking kids….”

Ouch.
Griff hadn’t realized the paramedic was this fragile. “It’s okay. Hey! We can go back to Brooklyn.”

“Fuck that. Hey! Hey.” Dante snapped his fingers in front of Tommy’s eyes. “Skip the pity party, huh? Save that shit for Oprah. Get fucking over it.”

Tommy sounded holow. “Like they give a damn. None of those fucks even knew my name. I was just easy meat.”

Griff shifted his weight down in the street. “Dante, ease up. He’s—”

“—a big boy and he can take his medicine.” Dante stood and pointed at him on the steps. “Look, Dobsky. You wanna sit out here in the dark and jerk off

watching other guys live your life, then you fucking do that. You’re not dead!”

“C’mon….” Griff knew what Dante was trying to do, but the paramedic looked like he was about a noose away from suicide. “Let’s just—”

“Fuck you, Anastagio.” Tommy wouldn’t look up. “It’s easy for you.”

“Yeah? Easy, is it? Fuck you twice! I’m not doing that shit anymore. I took the risk. I’m not curious. I’m a goddamned hero, ’cause I wanna be. You either

run out of burning buildings or you run in.” Dante stood and turned his back and walked away. He shouted over his shoulder, “Dumbass! You pick.”

“Tommy—” Griff reached out a hand to pat his shoulder, but it never got there.

“Fuck off. Okay?” Tommy sat on the stoop folded up on himself like an abandoned teddy bear with a sewn-together face and angry-button eyes.

Griff hesitated, watching Tommy’s misery for a moment, and then folowed his boyfriend into the rowdy pub.

DANTE was at the top of the stairs when Griff caught up. They stepped in and it was just as he remembered it. Sticky even remembered him, sort of, caling across the room, “Farm boy!”

“The hel?” Dante muttered next to him, glaring at the bartender, looking over the room, taking the measure of the other men just as Griff had that first time.

Everything was different now.

Griff took Dante’s hand and squeezed it, ignoring Dante’s surprised look. He nodded at Dante.
We’re safe in here.

They sidled through the winter-coated crowd toward the bar. Dante looked edgy, like he was waiting for someone to make a move on Griff, feeling everyone’s eyes on the fresh meat. They made it to the bartender, who was wiping his hands on the towel over his tattooed shoulder.

“Aww, you got a kilt! You’re
killing
me, man.”

Dante’s eyes were black stone as he took in Sticky’s carved eight-pack and the slick tattooed sleeve and the low-rise jeans and the white-blond hair.

Griff felt him stiffen and said, “This is my boyfriend.” He hooked a brawny arm around Dante and tugged him forward. “Dante, this is… Sticky.”

“Stuart. But I’l get as Sticky as you want.” Sticky winked at Griff and held out his hand to shake. Griff did. Dante didn’t. “Did you bring me any apples,

son?”

“Just him.” Griff squeezed the back of Dante’s tense neck. “Two Guinness?”

Sticky nodded and flicked his eyes between them.

“Who’s he?” Dante’s simmer was approaching a boil. “I don’t think I can do this. That kid was eyefucking you.”

“So damn jealous! Like I can see anyone but you.” Griff roled his eyes and took a deep breath from Dante’s hair, filing his lungs with the scent. “Just for a

second, c’mon. In case Tommy changes his….”

An older guy walked by checking Griff out, eyes glued to Griff’s beefy calves below the pleats. His eyes flicked up to Griff, who shook his head. The older

man shrugged and nodded.

“Fucking kilt. I knew it. Your legs.” Dante closed his eyes and took a breath, blowing the lock of hair off his face with it. He was practicaly a cartoon vilain, wicked with rage.

“Dipshit, they’re looking at you, not me.”

Dante angled himself, trying to screen Griff’s body from the other patrons, using himself as a shield. “That’s because I’m
with
you. I’m competition. They’re going to take me out with poison darts. They’re waiting for me to go to the bathroom so they can bonk you on the head and drag you to their gay-caves.”

Griff felt weird being more experienced for once. “It’s just a bar. They’re just guys. You’l see what I mean. I promise. We only gotta stay for a couple

beers.”

Dante fumed, impotent in front of him.

Griff nudged his pleats against Dante’s jeans. “I’m gonna wear this thing everywhere if it gets you that worked up.” He kissed the side of Dante’s surprised

face.

Apparently they were causing a bit of a stir, but that was like the Stone Bone too. Regulars always noticed when new fish dropped into the bowl. They just

wanted to know what the story was so they could gossip.

A hundred eyes clocked Dante’s rock-star hair and Griff’s kilt and their scuffed shoes, trying to put the pieces together. Their thoughts were almost audible:
No way are these two from Manhattan. Did they wander in by accident? Are they trouble?
And hel, a couple must’ve recognized them from the website.