The Families in Rossford

THE MESS UNFOLDS

CONTINUED

Will Klasko woke up with Nina blinking at him, sleepily.

“Good morning, William,” she said.

He was naked, so he jumped up with a small shout, and Nina leaned out of bed to pick up his underwear and hand them to him.

“Thank you,” Will said, nervously.

“And thank you,” she smiled at him.

“Will! Will!” he heard Layla shouting down the hall.

It was all coming back to him now, well, some of it. The apartment he remembered. The large windows looked down onto Shepherd’s Bush.

“Will!” Layla walked into the bedroom, wearing a nightie. “You will be late for your conference.”

Andrew entered, wearing a pair of silk briefs and smoking a pipe.

“She’s right, mate,” he said pinching Layla on the rump while she yelped. “And from what I hear, it’s in two hours.”

“Alright,” Will stamped his foot, looking around, “I give up. What the hell is going on?”

“Whaddo you mean?” Layla began. Then she said, “Oh, boy, you never could hold your liquor.”

“All I know is last night they wanted us to be swingers,” Will began, reaching for his trousers, “and then I wake up with Nina. Naked!”

“You didn’t wake up with me, naked,” the beautiful blonde woman said, standing up. “You and Layla stayed in our guest bedroom.”

“And you always sleep naked,” Layla reminded him as Will stuffed his shirt into his trousers.

“He does?” Nina said. “What a lucky girl. It’s a lovely view.”

“Thank you,” Will nearly shouted, trying to pat down his hair.

“I mean, I love a man with hair on his body. It’s really nice, especially all down the back of him-”

“I’ve always been a fan of it,” Layla said. “Some girls aren’t. But it looks so natural. And manly. You know. A bit of fur—”

“Could we stop—” Will demanded, “with the comments on my hairy body?”

“Aren’t we snippy this morning?” Layla commented, but Nina said, “Oh, of course. Well, I had just come in to wake you.”

“So nothing happened?” Will said.

“Well, something happened,” Layla said. “You put away half the bar, danced with Andrew, kissed Nina, and the taxi cab driver.”

“The cab driver?”

Nina, Andrew and Layla all nodded.

“Man or woman?”

“Why does it matter?” Layla said.

“I guess it doesn’t,” Will decided as he straightened his tie.

“Good, because it was a man.”

“And then we just brought you back here,” Andrew said as Will absorbed this last bit, “and you and this beautiful lady had furious, loud sex.”

Will stopped to think and said, “That much is coming back to me.”

“I tried to keep you quiet at first,” Layla said, smiling reflectively. “But in the end I just went with it.”

“We all went with it,” Nina said. “It was an inspiration, William. Me and Andrew are still feeling the raw masculine power you exhibited last night.”

“I feel like I might be sick.”

“It won’t be from the drinking. I gave you three aspirin before we slept,” Layla said.

“No,” Will agreed. “It’s not the drinking.”

“So, how do we get you to that conference?”

“I actually have to go back to the Montcalm to get the information, and then I’m not really sure how to get there.”

“How about this?” Nina suggested. “We can drive you all to the hotel, and then to the conference?”

“Oh, we couldn’t accept.”

“Of course we could,” Layla said pragmatically. “We’ve crossed an ocean to be here, and it starts in an hour.”

“And while you’re gone we can entertain Layla.”

This last, from Nina, was a surprise and Layla said, “Yes. That sounds wonderful. Let’s go.”

As Will tramped out of the room behind the rest of them, he said, “I'm feeling as if the world started four hours before me and I can’t catch up.”

“William, darling,” Nina told him, “the world started billions of years before you, and none of us will ever catch up!”

 

As they ran into the lobby of the Mountcalm, Scott the bellhop said, “Good morning, Miss Layla!”

“You’re still up?”

“I could say the same for you, but I’m about to head to bed.”

“Well, I’m not, so I guess I’ll see you later.”

As Layla and Will waited for the elevator, it opened and out came—”

“Pam.”

“Layla! Ah,” she looked over Will. “This is Him.”

“It is. Pam, Will. Will, Pam.”

“You took my advice? Looks like you’re just getting in?”

“Getting in,” Will said, “and going back out.”

The elevator closed with Will in it, and Layla said, “I did take your advice, and thank you for it. I better follow him up. He’s got a conference he should be at.”

“On New Year’s Day? How barbaric.”

“I know, right?”

“Well, I have been a night owl,” Pam said. “And a girl has got to get to bed. But I’ll probably be back here tonight.”

“Well, then we should have a drink or something.”

“That, Layla,” Pam said, kissing her on the cheek, “is exactly what I’m saying.”

And then she squeezed her, and putting her coat over her shoulder, walked down into the lobby.

Logan Banford woke up feeling all of his thirty years. Nearly thirty years. Close enough. On his profile he was still twenty-six. He looked in the mirror. After a shower, yes, he could pass for it.

New Years was the most depressing night in the world. He thought to escape it by going to bed early, but his neighbors wouldn’t allow that and so, before he had finally called the police at three in the morning, he had spiraled down into a depression about losing everything by the end of the year. He would lose his looks soon enough. Things had not turned out anything like he hoped they would. He flushed the toilet and came out into the kitchen, turned on the coffee pot and went straight to the computer. Last night would have been a good night for business, and really, business would have been an excellent way to keep his spirits up, or at least keep him from thinking. But today was just as good. He wished Sheridan was here, but Sheridan needed a life. As the aroma of brewing coffee came from the kitchen, he began checking his messages.

There were three potential clients for the day. Potential, because the truth was there was a limit to what he would do, who he would do. For a while he’d thought he was out of this, and then there were the things that had happened to him before. In some ways he wished he’d never left Rossford, because he wished he’d never left Ron. Ron Lewis always knew exactly what to look for, and who was safe and who was not.

“Rent should be paid,” Logan said. “I should take care of this.”

The conversation was long, like pulling teeth, and through it Logan got up to pour coffee.

“I’ve never done this sort of thing before. What do I do?”

Logan was reminded of the unprofessional ones back home who posted on gay chat sites and responded with attitude.

“We could meet at my place or your place,” Logan found himself saying, as he usually did. “When we meet we can see what makes you comfortable.”

“When I meet you is it free?”

Well, that was crass, Logan thought. So he could be equally crass.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay. Well… I don’t know if I want to do it.”

“Things don’t have to go all the way,” Logan told him. “That is the point. You are hiring your fantasy.”

“Well, what is there besides all the way?” the man asked.

“There is massage,” Logan said. “A lot of men like a good massage. Some like conversation and massage. There is really whatever you want.”

“How much is the massage?”

“I don’t like to discuss money.”

And that was true. This is why, in fact, Logan had the price listed on his page, because he did not like to discuss money.

“Oh, alright. Well, I tell you what? Can you come over to me in about an hour?”

“Provided I have your address, I think I can make that happen.”

Sometimes it was easiest to disassociate. Better to talk to oneself as if writing in a journal or in a manual. This was how some days went. You finished eating, showered, went down to catch the El once you were sure about the address. Depending upon the character of the man, you turned up a little early, a little late or exactly on time. This one seemed nervous and so it was best to be early before he backed out.

Better to not look too sporty. Look good, but a little shabby. Some wanted the full effect. Some wanted the total porn star. Many could not handle it. Men did not possess great self esteem and, lets be honest, a man who was willing to pay six-hundred dollars for you was probably a little insecure. This was really all about the level of insecurity, the style the insecurity manifested. He knew some men would brag about how they’d had porn star Logan Banford for five or six hundred dollars, and once he had charged two thousand knowing the man would feel good when he jewed him down to fifteen. Men like that wanted the glossy movie Logan.

But this man seemed a little timid. He sounded slightly over five feet. He sounded plump and bald. He sounded like he thought he was fatter than he really was. Logan would wear jeans and a hoodie for him and none of that spiked gelled hair that said Abercrombie and Fitch, skinny and twenty, things you never were. Today Logan’s hair was straight and unwashed, brown more than blond. What he looked like today was a good looking man far better than anything this man could get, but not totally out of his field of dreams. No overly tight shirts that showed off the muscles, no exposed biceps.

“Hello,” Logan said.

His voice was not too deep. At soon as he saw this man, he raised it a little. This man could not be bowled over by masculinity. He only needed something a little manlier than himself, and, judging by the look of him, that didn’t take a lot.

“You look so tense. Let me put you at ease. Why don’t you get on the table I brought.”

“You really are going to give me a massage?”

“Of course,” Logan said. “And whatever else you want.”

“I have something for you,” the man said, and handed Logan the envelope.

Logan had never been cheated, and so long ago had stifled the urge to open the envelope in a client’s presence.

“Now, I do have a robe for you,” Logan told him, conversationally. “You can go into the bathroom and change if you’d like.”

The man seemed like the type of person who would like it.

There was a silver daddy who lived up on Bryn Mawr and he liked to take his clothes off in front of Logan. Logan didn’t blame him. He had a beautiful, though overly tanned, body and a cock like a sausage. It was always hard. He lay on his back and got his front massaged, fingers up his ass. Logan jacked him off and then, only after that, would he get his back done.

When this man trotted out, Logan knew he would have to proceed with care and, though he knew business was business, he hoped he didn’t have to fuck him.

“We’ll just start with the back,” Logan said. “How’s that?”

“Oh, that’s great,” the man said as Logan worked with his housecoat. He sighed, “Your hands feel great already.”

“We’ll just get you loosened up.”

“How long does it last?”

“My sessions are an hour.”

“Then I can get my back rubbed the whole time?” he sounded like a very happy boy.

“You certainly can.”

Logan thought of saying usually people did more, but today he was not in a mood to do more, so why offer?

He started with the back, and then the feet, and then back to the back, now a little lower, now down to the calves, coming up and down closer to the middle. The man was sighing as Logan began to massage his buttocks and Logan was about to reach for his latex gloves. The oil was out and now was where his fingers went where an escort’s did. He was just reaching for the gloves when his phone rang.

“Excuse that,” Logan said. “This is my emergency phone.”

“Alright,” the man said, half asleep.

Logan reached into his back pocket and pulled out the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi… Meredith?”

“Yeah, Logan.  Are you at home?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, God. I needed a ride.”

“What do you mean? Meredith, what’s up? I don’t even have a car.”

The man sat up, blinking.

“Is there a problem?” he said, mildly.

“Might be,” Logan told him.

“Meredith, I didn’t drive back here. Remember.”

“I know, but I thought—”

“Sheridan has my car.”

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit!”

“You’re troubled,” the man said, sliding off the table. “Can I help?”

Logan raised his finger and then said to Meredith, “Meredith, what’s going on?”

His eyes widened.

“Oh, hell.”

Logan turned to his client.

“My friend is going into labor.”