He sighed, walked over, and dropped the Minky into one of the boxes. “Shut the fuck up, D. I’ve already moved all the big stuff. It’s just odds and ends to grab now. That shelf over there, the glasses, blender, and Crock-Pot are all mine.”
“It smells like cigarettes and cheap tequila in here.” Dusty gagged as he grabbed a box and some newspaper, walking over to the small, open kitchen to pack the items Linc pointed out. Sniffing the air, Linc sneezed. Dusty was right; the musty apartment air was likened to that of a piano bar at midnight on a Friday.
The two of them managed to get everything left that belonged to Linc packed and loaded into the back of Dusty’s truck in less than an hour. Linc thought he should be sad or dejected; this was where he’d lived for over a year with Lance, shared a bed, a life. But he wasn’t, not really, because he realized that this dank, depressing apartment wasn’t his home—not even close. His home was in Mamaroneck with Victor, Andrew, and Mattie, and the family he’d been welcomed into since the first day he went to work at All Cocks.
Leaving the keys where they’d landed, Linc closed the door on his life with Lance, jogging down two flights of stairs and out the door into the cold winter air. Standing on the stoop, he inhaled the familiar scents of Mrs. Gray’s fresh-baked apple pie chilling on the window sill and the Conleys’ chimney, a mixture of cinnamon, pine cones, and wood they’d chopped in Jersey at a family farm. They were the memories he’d take with him, leaving all the baggage behind.
Chapter Five
All Cocks
Chris sat on the balcony, watching the sun rise, sipping from the steaming mug of joyous, rich, brown liquid in his hand and weighing his options. He had applied for hundreds of jobs over the past few years since moving to New York, but the final answer was always the same. No one wanted to hire someone with an involuntary manslaughter charge on their record. If it wasn’t for the money he’d gotten when his grandfather died, he would have been up the proverbial creek.
That had been a hard time for Chris, losing his grandfather, someone he’d been so close to before the accident. Realization dawned on him that day: his life would forevermore be defined in two categories…before the accident and after. His father called Michael to tell him, not Chris, and made it perfectly clear that Chris was not welcome at the funeral. Arthur Roberts’s body wasn’t even cold yet, and people were already making decisions for him. And then when his dad called a few days later to tell Michael about the will, Michael said the man was livid about having to give his “disappointment of a son” so much as one red cent. He went into a downward spiral after his grandfather’s passing, and it was months before he was able to dig himself out from it.
He sat there, thinking. How odd was it, that the one person in the world that was supposed to have his back regardless, love him unconditionally, was his Achilles’ heel? In the end, it was the anger and frustration Chris felt over being abandoned by his family that gave him the push he needed to make the call to All Cocks.
***
The following day, Chris headed downtown on the subway to the address he’d been given for his interview. It was a small, nondescript office building with just two suites, number 68 and the one he was going to, number 69. He chuckled—oh, the irony. Inside he found a bubbly brunette who wore more eye makeup than Tammy Faye Bakker, with a headset precisely positioned on top of her pinned-up hair, smiling up at him as he entered the room.
“Hi.” She stood and teetered over to him on a pair of sky-high, needle-thin heels in a dress that had to be two sizes too small for her double-D chest. “I’m Cassie, and you must be Christopher; it’s nice to meet you.” She held her tiny hand out. At six foot two, Chris towered over most people, and the tiny brunette in front of him could likely fit in his back pocket.
He gently took her hand, and remembering his manners, pulled it up as he leaned down and kissed the tips of her fingers. “Yes, it’s just Chris, though. Nice to meet you too, ma’am.” He poured every drop of his southern roots into the word “ma’am” and grinned a little as Cassie melted into a puddle at his feet.
“Oh, well, aren’t you just the gentleman?” she cooed, batting her eyes. While he could not deny the beauty hidden underneath ten gallons of Cover Girl, he generally liked his women a bit more rough around the edges. More blue jeans and beer than pearls and champagne.
Chris smiled at her and nodded. Cassie reached for a clipboard piled high with papers and a pen off her desk, then turned around and handed it to Chris. “Here ya go, darling.” She put extra emphasis on darling, winking at him. “Have a seat right there.” She pointed to a row of chairs behind him along the wall. “And fill all those out, and then just holler when you’re done, and I’ll let Victor know you’re here.” She disappeared through a door across the room, and Chris sat and started filling out the mountain of papers.
To Chris, it seemed like he sat there waiting for Victor for hours after he handed the clipboard to Cassie. In reality, it was probably not long at all. He was nervous, and that tension all but made the clock stand still. Right about the time his brain started trying to talk him out of following through with this insane idea to become a gay porn star, the door opened again and a large man with a foreign accent called out to him.
“Hello, I am Victor, please follow with me.” Chris nodded and followed Victor, peeking into the open doors, seeing a couple of offices and what looked like a bedroom. Odd, he thought. Why would there be…? Oh, wait, remember where you are, dude. Chris pursed his lips to keep from laughing at himself, almost walking right into Victor when he stopped to show Chris the restroom, asking if he needed a moment before they got started.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
Victor nodded as he continued down the hall, telling Chris how he came to America from Romania when he was just a boy with his parents, the promise of life, liberty, and happiness luring them to the other side of the world.
The man, who was as tall as Chris but thinner, with jet-black hair and eyes, was very charming, almost mesmerizing but equally terrifying. Victor moved fluidly, stealthily, like…Holy shit, Dracula! The accent, his long limbs and purposeful movements, the way he had almost entranced Chris from the moment they shook hands. The man was a fucking vampire. Chris managed to stifle the laugh in the back of his throat, playing it off as a cough.
Victor stopped at an open door, standing aside so that Chris could walk in first. He stepped into an office large enough for two big, fluffy couches, a coffee table with a recorder and camera sitting on it on one side of the room, and a large cherrywood desk on the other side with several tall file cabinets in one corner. The atmosphere was very relaxed, as was Victor’s posture, but Chris was hesitant and unsure why. He couldn’t get his legs to move until he was almost knocked off his feet as Cassie pushed past him, carrying a tray with a carafe and two cups on it. Whistling as she waltzed in, she placed everything on the table, then spun the tray in one hand as she tottered out the door on her too-high heels.