Rentboy (17 page)

“Yes. But Bro, don’t do anything rash, will you?”

“When have I ever done anything rash?” Actually he had done lots of rash things just lately. Sex in a barn, with a bridle, no less. Sex under a bush in Russell Square, not to mention a wank in a back alley in Soho. For a few weeks life had been exciting. Now it was back to dreary old Edward in his lab coat all day and home to his empty, messy flat for Pot Noodles at night. If he knew how to be melodramatic, he would throw his head down on the table and sob. But he was Dr. Edward Atherton, sober, solid, taken for a fool again.

“Can I have your rice bowl?” Nik asked. “You haven’t touched it.”

“Help yourself. I’ve lost my appetite. But give me Fox’s number first. The least he can do is apologize.”

Nik held out her hand, and when Edward handed her his phone, she punched the number into the phone book. “Sorry, Bro. There’ll be another man for you. The perfect man.” She took his bowl and began to eat.

“I thought I had the perfect man.”

“How did you meet him? Was Fox selling his arse? Is that what the waiter meant?”

“Do you have to be so coarse?” Lowering his voice so that Nik had to lean across the table to hear him, he said, “Yes, he was. That was how I met him if you must know, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. I was desperate. You kept going on about thirty-year-old virgins, and I am so stupidly shy around men that I thought I’d never get a boyfriend. I was even considering going on eHarmony. Then I found out that male prostitutes hang around Tisbury Court, so I started going there in the hopes of at least having an experience of some sort. Next thing I knew Fox approached me.”

Brow furrowed, Nik asked, “What the hell was he up to? Why would he do it?”

“I have no idea. Thrills, perhaps. Whatever his game, he’s going to get a piece of my mind.”

* * * *

Fox put down his charcoal, rubbed his hands on the bum of his black denim jeans, and grabbed his vibrating mobile from his pocket. Out of respect to the other students and an adherence to school protocol, he slipped quietly outside the life modeling studio to look at his phone.

Text from Edward Atherton.
We need to talk. Come and meet me.

Shit! How the hell had Eddie got his number? Nik. Of course. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t threatened to tell Eddie everything. He texted back.
Can’t. In class.

“You’re not in class. You’re standing outside.”

About twenty feet away Eddie looked at him, clearly angry and hurt. Heart sinking, Fox hurried toward him. He had known this was coming, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of hurting sweet, kind, gentle Eddie. Yet he had hurt him. “What are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here is more to the point, Fox. You’re not in art school. You live in a box in a back alley in Soho plying your trade as a rentboy.”

Unable to maintain eye contact, Fox dropped his chin to his chest. “Sorry.”

“Are you really? Somehow I find that hard to believe. We need to talk.”

“I can’t.”

“I saw Nik last night. She told me you had dumped me, among other things. I’m not leaving until you tell me why you are such a bloody liar!” His voice escalated in volume with each word, drawing the attention of people milling about the reception area that doubled as an art gallery.

“All right. Let me get my stuff.” It seemed that everyone in studio also heard the conversation, because they all looked at him, including the nude model, as Fox went to his easel. When they were finally out on the street, Fox sighed with relief. The whole school didn’t need to hear what an arsehole he was. “Shall we get a coffee?”

“Perhaps a stiff drink. I certainly need one. There’s a pub down there.” Edward pointed.

“Better go to the student union pub. They don’t like boys with guyliner in some of the pubs round here. Come on.”

Even in the middle of the afternoon the student union pub bustled with noise as groups of art students gathered about the bar and tables. “Go and sit over there. I’ll go to the bar,” Eddie said in a tone that brooked no argument. Usually the leader in the relationship, Fox knew it was time to give Eddie the reins.

“Right, you’re very masterful today.” He made his way between the crowded tables to a small table in the corner. It took Eddie several minutes to get served, leaving Fox to watch him as he stood at the bar, wondering how the hell he could explain his dysfunctional existence to someone who lived such a civilized life. He couldn’t lie again.

Eddie paid for two bottles of Stella and began to weave his way through the tables to Fox. He wore his nerdy glasses and brown corduroy trousers with a plain navy blue polo shirt. Who wore navy and brown together? Eddie plunked the bottles on the table and sat down.

Fox couldn’t stop looking at him. The way Eddie walked and talked gave him a hard-on. Eddie’s long-fingered, bony hand holding his Stella and his prominent Adam’s apple when he tipped back his head to drink all made Fox want to reach out and stroke his throat and hold Eddie’s hand to his lips and kiss it.

“Eddie, I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? Tell me all about it.” Sarcasm was not Eddie’s specialty, but he had it mastered today. The sneer on his smoothly shaven face and the tone of his voice came together, showing his anger and confusion.

“I lied to you.”

Eyebrows raised, Eddie nodded emphatically. “You certainly did. You don’t live on the street, do you?”

Shaking his head, Fox gripped his beer bottle, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. “I live at home with my mum and dad and the twins.” No need to hide it anymore. Eddie would never go to his home anyway. They couldn’t see each other again.

“Even the story about your mother having a boyfriend who hated gays was a lie? What’s wrong with you? Why would you lie about something so small and stupid? Did you want me to feel sorry for you or something?”

When Fox spoke, it came out dismally quiet. “No. I was just playing around, and it got out of hand. I’m really sorry.”

“I doubt it. You’d still be lying to me if Nik hadn’t seen you at the farm. Admit it. You would.”

It was true, but not for the reasons Eddie thought. “Yeah, probably. I was going to finish with you when we got back to London; I just didn’t have the bottle to face you. Sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry. Liars are only sorry when they get caught. And I know you were going to finish with me. Nik told me. Why didn’t you say it and get it over with instead of leaving me waiting and wondering where you were for a week and then the other night? Utopia. What was that? I was actually worried about you, thinking you were living on the street and something bad had happened to you. All the time you were going to school and living…where?”

“Finchley,” Fox muttered.

“Oh, very posh. You acted so impressed by my home when you come from a wealthy neighborhood yourself. Were you laughing at me behind my back? Were you telling your friends at Wimbledon College about your geeky boffin of a boyfriend?”

“I never told anyone about you,” Fox said. “I’d never laugh at you, Eddie.”

“Oh, I think you would. Everybody else does, so why not you? Why were you picking up tricks that night? Just for the experience or what?”

My dad told me to pick you up so I could rob your computer.
“I thought it might give me some insights for an installation piece I’m working on about prostitution.”
Where did that come from?

“I’m part of an art project? Lovely! I’m flattered!” His voice rose up, anger, hurt, and irony grappling for precedence. “Nik tells me you think I’m too old for you.”

“That’s not true.”

“You didn’t say that?”

“Yes, I did, but…”

“You tell so many lies you don’t remember how to tell the truth, do you? Did you say it or not? Nik may not be able to hold her own water, but she’s always truthful when she gossips.”

This was horrible, and there was no way out. “Yes, I said it. I’m sorry, Eddie. Truly I am. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Eddie wasn’t too old; he was perfect.

“Too late for that.” Eddie wore his heart on his sleeve. He didn’t even try to play it cool. “I am hurt, and I feel betrayed.”

The pain in Fox’s upper arm from his most recent cutting episode flared up, making him grip it. The scabs were still raw. Aside from that his entire body was bruised from the beating Baillie had given him.

Eddie’s voice was quiet now, the anger dulled. “Have you cut yourself again?”

It was over between him and Eddie, so why hide the one thing he hated admitting to. “Yeah.”

The sarcasm and hurt were back. “Is it part of your persona? The Goth art student all dressed in black, even on a hot day like this, who cuts himself for…what? As part of an art project? Do you take photographs of your cuts?”

Fox pressed the cold beer bottle against his inflamed arm for a minute, before drinking the remains. But he didn’t bother to answer. Eddie no longer believed anything he said, and why would he?

“You’re a liar and a thief. I’m glad I found out before you wasted any more of my time. You know, I actually admired you, a lost boy living on the street, selling himself to survive. I thought it was noble even though I hated the thought of you doing it. Now I find out that you have no need at all to do it. It’s just for an art project. That doesn’t make you a hero. It just makes you a tart.”

A desire to bite back suddenly overwhelmed Fox. “And you hire rentboys, so I s’pose we’re both a bit pathetic and lacking in morals.”

Eddie fell silent and lowered his eyes, fingering the label on the bottle, scraping it away from the glass with his fingernail. “Yes, it does,” he said very quietly. “I was desperate not to reach my thirtieth birthday as a virgin, so I took the risk of paying for sex. Sad, isn’t it?”

“Eddie.” Fox watched his face, wanting to erase the hurt he had inflicted. Not just his last cruel words, but all of it. Every stupid thing he had done in the last few weeks. “You’re not sad. You’re fab.”

The softness in Eddie’s eyes when he looked up again made Fox despise himself even more for making such a decent bloke feel like a bag of shit. “For a short while there I felt happy and excited and sexy as hell instead of boring and ordinary. I should thank you for that if nothing else.” As if resolved, Eddie pushed away his empty beer bottle and stood up. “Here’s the thirty quid I owe you.” He threw the banknotes on the table and walked out.

* * * *

“He’s not here,” the man said. “Hasn’t been back. The bloke with the black eyes. That’s who you’re looking for, isn’t it? Fox.”

Never in his life had Edward chatted with a vagrant. In the last few weeks he’d done it twice. After his conversation with Fox he had felt confused and angry, and for some strange reason he needed to know just how many men Fox had had sex with for his art piece.

“No. Actually. I was looking for you.”

“I don’t sell my arse.” The tramp reared back against the wall as if he thought Edward was about to lunge at him. “You keep your distance.”

The funnier side of life almost always evaded Edward, but even he nearly burst out laughing at the thought of offering to buy sex from the dirt-encrusted, elderly man before him. “Yes. I’ll stay back here.” The smell was enough to put off a mangy dog, let alone the thought of catching something similar to the things Edward observed every day in petri dishes. “I wanted to know if you could tell me anything about him.”

“Fox? I already told you. He don’t live on the street. Too clean.”

“Yes, I know. What else?

“He’s a nice young fella, Fox is. Took me out for lunch one day, he did.” The man raised his chin ever so slightly when he said it, as if being taken out for lunch raised his status. It had obviously raised his self-esteem. “The Tofu Factory.”

“He took me there too,” Eddie said. It all seemed so long ago now.

“Bet they let you sit down and eat your grub, didn’t they? They wouldn’t have none of me sitting in their chairs.
‘Get out,’
they said. So Fox said,
‘Then we will have it to carry out.’
” He changed his accent to one similar to Edward’s as he said it. But Fox never spoke like that. The old man must be attempting to convey Fox’s tone. “He was right annoyed with them, he was. We sat on a bench on the street and ate together like it was a picnic. Nice lad, Fox.”

“I thought so too at first,” Edward mumbled. “Did he have a lot of customers?”

When the man shrugged, not just his shoulders but all his clothing moved; stiff with dirt and grease, it was like a shell rather than clothes.

“Never saw him go off with anyone but you.”

“You must have.”

Looking agitated, the man raised his voice. “I said I never.”

“Of course.” Edward finally caught on and took a tenner from his wallet. “There you are. Ten pounds. Now tell me how many men you saw pick him up.”

With one filthy hand the man snatched the money from Edward. “I already told you. He never went with no one but you.”

Why did he care anyway? Fox had dumped him because he was too old. He had lied to him because he was a liar.

“I don’t have any more money on me.”

“You could come back with the Royal Mint, and I’d still have nothing else to tell you. He was here for about a week, just sitting in the box, watching men and chatting to me. When any bloke came too near, he shook his head. One night he had a swollen eye. I could see it was swollen even through all that girly shit he likes to put on his face. Didn’t want to talk about it, but after a while he told me his dad hit him.”

“I wouldn’t believe everything he tells you,” Edward said. “In fact I wouldn’t believe half of it. He told me his father was dead. Then the man appeared in the park and gave me a black eye.”

“Well, I did believe him. I could see in his face it was true, but you believe what you want, Mr. La-Di-Da.” That the old man was miffed was apparent even to Edward. It was also apparent that he liked Fox. “He never went off with no one until you came along, and then he went with you two times. I haven’t seen him since, and I’d like to, even though a man in a skirt makes me a bit nervous.”

“So he was here only a few days and only went with me. No one else.”