when you get home tomorrow."
"I knew you were a dirty boy,” Fraizer said.
"It's all your fault."
"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon,” Frazier said. “I should be home around five, in plenty of time for the party. You can pull down my zipper then."
"Be careful and have a safe flight,” Marco said. He never stopped worrying about Frazier when he was in the air.
"I will,” Fraizer said. “I love you."
"Love you, too."
When they hung up, Marco rested his head back on the pillow and thought about the anniversary card Frazier had found in his suitcase. Then he heard a noise come from inside the bathroom. It was dark. He couldn't see well. The bathroom door was open and he thought he saw a shadow. He wondered if Yves had been listening at the door, watching him have phone sex with Frazier. He'd been so engrossed in what he was doing, he'd forgotten all about Yves.
The next morning at ten, Jane Francis carried a tray of coffee and juice into his bedroom. She did this every morning, knowing how much Marco hated to get out of bed until he'd had at least two cups of coffee. He sat up and said good morning. She rested the tray on his lap and went to the other side of the room to open the draperies. The sun was shining and it looked to be a beautiful fall day.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about something,” Jane Francis said, looking out the window. “Have you noticed anything odd about Yves?” She was biting her bottom lip and wringing her hands together.
"You don't care for him.” Marco took a sip of coffee. He knew Jane Francis well enough to know she was fishing for something. He didn't want to play games.
"Can we talk Dutch Uncle, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?"
"Dutch Uncle,” Marco said. Jane Francis used this old phrase whenever she wanted to be painfully honest.
"I don't like him."
"Why?"
"This is where I'm supposed to tell you what you want to hear instead of talking Dutch Uncle."
"He can't seem to do enough to make me happy,” Marco said.
"No, he can't."
"He does whatever I ask him to do without complaining,” Marco said.
"Yes, he does."
"He doesn't think about anyone but me,” Marco said. Then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Doesn't he?” Marco wanted to know if Jane Francis knew something about Yves he didn't know. Jane Francis was loyal and rarely ever said a bad word about anyone unless it was necessary.
Jane Francis thought for a moment. “You're the only one he thinks about?"
"What do you mean?"
She stepped back from the window and crossed to the side of the bed. “It's creepy,” she said. “He absorbs everything about you. He watches you and studies you as if you were a textbook and he is about to take a final exam. He scopes out every move you make. The way you walk and speak and hold a fork..."
"I think it's flattering,” Marco said. “I don't see anything wrong with it.” He sounded defensive and annoyed, and far from convincing.
When Jane Francis opened her mouth to reply, there was a knock on the open door. They both turned and saw Yves standing in the doorway. Marco opened his eyes wide. Jane Francis pressed her palm to her stomach and took a quick breath. Yves was wearing one of the hand-me-down outfits Marco had given him a few days earlier. He'd gone to a salon and had his hair cut exactly like Marco's. The long straggly chunks that fell to his neck were gone. His new hair style was ultra short and neat, slick with a shiny product that glistened in the sunlight. The hair cut was such a huge transformation they wouldn't have recognized him if they'd seen him walking down the street. It framed his handsome face and drew attention to his superior bone structure. In this outfit, with the new haircut, Yves looked as if he were ready to step onto a runway and model.
Yves stepped into the room and said, “Good morning. What do you think of my new look?” It was a short fawn-colored leather jacket over a black V-neck T-shirt, tight low-rise jeans,
"I knew you were a dirty boy,” Fraizer said.
"It's all your fault."
"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon,” Frazier said. “I should be home around five, in plenty of time for the party. You can pull down my zipper then."
"Be careful and have a safe flight,” Marco said. He never stopped worrying about Frazier when he was in the air.
"I will,” Fraizer said. “I love you."
"Love you, too."
When they hung up, Marco rested his head back on the pillow and thought about the anniversary card Frazier had found in his suitcase. Then he heard a noise come from inside the bathroom. It was dark. He couldn't see well. The bathroom door was open and he thought he saw a shadow. He wondered if Yves had been listening at the door, watching him have phone sex with Frazier. He'd been so engrossed in what he was doing, he'd forgotten all about Yves.
The next morning at ten, Jane Francis carried a tray of coffee and juice into his bedroom. She did this every morning, knowing how much Marco hated to get out of bed until he'd had at least two cups of coffee. He sat up and said good morning. She rested the tray on his lap and went to the other side of the room to open the draperies. The sun was shining and it looked to be a beautiful fall day.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about something,” Jane Francis said, looking out the window. “Have you noticed anything odd about Yves?” She was biting her bottom lip and wringing her hands together.
"You don't care for him.” Marco took a sip of coffee. He knew Jane Francis well enough to know she was fishing for something. He didn't want to play games.
"Can we talk Dutch Uncle, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?"
"Dutch Uncle,” Marco said. Jane Francis used this old phrase whenever she wanted to be painfully honest.
"I don't like him."
"Why?"
"This is where I'm supposed to tell you what you want to hear instead of talking Dutch Uncle."
"He can't seem to do enough to make me happy,” Marco said.
"No, he can't."
"He does whatever I ask him to do without complaining,” Marco said.
"Yes, he does."
"He doesn't think about anyone but me,” Marco said. Then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Doesn't he?” Marco wanted to know if Jane Francis knew something about Yves he didn't know. Jane Francis was loyal and rarely ever said a bad word about anyone unless it was necessary.
Jane Francis thought for a moment. “You're the only one he thinks about?"
"What do you mean?"
She stepped back from the window and crossed to the side of the bed. “It's creepy,” she said. “He absorbs everything about you. He watches you and studies you as if you were a textbook and he is about to take a final exam. He scopes out every move you make. The way you walk and speak and hold a fork..."
"I think it's flattering,” Marco said. “I don't see anything wrong with it.” He sounded defensive and annoyed, and far from convincing.
When Jane Francis opened her mouth to reply, there was a knock on the open door. They both turned and saw Yves standing in the doorway. Marco opened his eyes wide. Jane Francis pressed her palm to her stomach and took a quick breath. Yves was wearing one of the hand-me-down outfits Marco had given him a few days earlier. He'd gone to a salon and had his hair cut exactly like Marco's. The long straggly chunks that fell to his neck were gone. His new hair style was ultra short and neat, slick with a shiny product that glistened in the sunlight. The hair cut was such a huge transformation they wouldn't have recognized him if they'd seen him walking down the street. It framed his handsome face and drew attention to his superior bone structure. In this outfit, with the new haircut, Yves looked as if he were ready to step onto a runway and model.
Yves stepped into the room and said, “Good morning. What do you think of my new look?” It was a short fawn-colored leather jacket over a black V-neck T-shirt, tight low-rise jeans,
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