Second Star to the Right

Saturday afternoon Mason shifted his weight and stared down the court at the two men across the net. The sweat on his back made his shirt cling uncomfortably and he had a second’s thought on how that just wasn’t right considering how much he’d paid for it in belief of its promise to provide ‘wicking’, before he had to drop the internalizing and focus. There was no way, no way in heaven or hell, that he was about to lose another match. Not to these two. Not again. His heel ached from pounding it off the floor, something else he shouldn’t have to be dealing with considering the inordinate cost of the tennis shoes on his feet; his hip was pinging in that way that meant he’d be sleeping on his left side all night, and his shoulder muscles felt like they’d been cinched to one another by some kind of god-awful wire that just kept getting tighter every time he moved. “And this,” he mumbled, gripping the racket more firmly, “this is what I do for fun.” He could hear Greg beside him, obnoxiously twisting the soles of his runners so that they squawked in angry echoes. He kept his eyes on the movement of Evan’s arm in an effort to get some kind of forewarning about the upcoming shot. He ignored Evan’s partner, Henry, as Henry flounced from side to side, right foot, left food, right foot, left foot, like he was getting ready to sprint or some damn thing. All that mattered was the ball—that fuzzy, yellow, elusive, b***h-ass, goddamn ball. His body jumped in time with Evan’s swing, the ball soared at their side of the net with the power of a bullet, and Mason lurched to the right, swinging his racket with a grunt and every last bit of power he could put into it. “Game!” Evan shouted, tossing his racket into the air and side-stepping towards Henry in a dance that even Mason thought was about the most annoyingly flamboyant move he’d ever seen a person make on a tennis court, complete with swaying hips and teeny tip-toe steps. Mason turned to watch the ball bounce first off of the floor, then against the wall behind it, before making a half-hearted effort to tumble back towards the court. There was nothing more for Mason to do but roll his eyes and shoot a glance at Greg who was staring at the other two men as if he was trying to set them on fire with his eyes. Mason stepped up to the net, considered it, then sighed and turned left to walk around it. Evan, instead, bounded forward and shot a hand out over the barrier. “Good game, buddy. Excellent effort. You almost had us there. Your swing is really coming along nicely.” “f**k that,” Greg’s voice boomed out from behind him, all play, no malice, but loud enough to make the rest of them wince. He reached around Mason’s body and smacked Evan’s hand away. “f**k this, f**k that, f**k him, and f**k you,” he drew the last word out as if he was a toy train stuck on wail. “You both cheat and you know it. We don’t shake hands with no damned cheats.” Evan clucked his tongue and Mason chuckled, completing the handshake anyway. “Well thanks for the game, regardless. It was, at the very least, a good workout.” Mason tapped his gut, thankfully still in fine form but nevertheless an endless battle. “Every little bit helps. Besides, what would a Saturday afternoon be without getting a good ass-kicking from the two of you, right?” “Bah.” Greg swatted the back of his head lightly. “Get your mind off your ass for a change and we might actually win for once.” He nodded at the other two. “You guys going to join us for a beer or what?” “Can’t,” Henry said, still swinging his racket in practice shots. “My kid’s sixth birthday party starts in an hour. Carey will shoot me if I’m late.” Mason nodded and hurried to cut off Greg’s snort. “Totally understandable. Please say hello to Carey for me and my best wishes to…uh…” “Connor.” “Of course,” he nodded. “Yep, I knew that.” Mason grinned at Greg who started to dig at his right ear as if he was mining it for gold. Smile faded to mild disgust and Mason shook his head, turning back to Evan. “How about you?” “Date,” Evan said with an eyebrow wiggle. “Twenty-six year old waitress that I met while I was at dinner breaking up with Melanie. God, that was awkward. But hey, you catch them where you find them, right?” Greg stopped still, as if frozen in place, and finally let his mouth drop in complete, and totally feigned shock. “Oh. My. God,” he gasped. “You’re straight?” “f**k you, Greg,” Evan replied without missing a beat. “Ha!” Greg pointed. He cast a glance at Mason and nodded. “Just an act. I knew it.” He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, yet loud enough that Mason was sure the entire building could have heard, let alone the four of them. “He wants to f**k me.” “Aaand, we’re preteens now,” Mason lifted his hand in a mock salute. “Gentlemen, I bid you well in your attempts at socializing, but I for one am off to shower and then drink my lonely self into oblivion.” He bowed with a flourish, stepping backwards. “Adieu.” Both Evan and Henry repeated the gesture. “Catch you next Saturday then.” Mason stopped quickly and lifted one hand. “No, actually; you won’t.” Three sets of eyes turned to stare in shock. While they always seemed to have plans they just couldn’t get out of, families to tend to, friends getting married, and places to be, Mason always managed to make the game. It wasn’t that he had no life, Mason would be the first to argue that point if it was broached. It was just that the little he did have, he could always work around everything else. It helped that he had a strict no-work-on-the-weekend policy that was pretty easy to maintain considering he was the owner of the company. It also didn’t hurt that he had no little ones of his own, no partner to have to check with, and that most of the people in his social circle did. As such, they took very little of his time because they had so very little to give away. It meant that Mason could, and usually did, jump whenever he was asked. No doubt they were surprised. “I have a trip planned,” Mason explained. “I’m going up north for some R&R now that I’ve finished the NYC venture.” “Oh?” Evan smirked. “Little weekend rendezvous?” “A week actually. Unfortunately no illicit stolen moments though. Just some down and out time. I need it.” Henry sniffed and grimaced. “So, you’re going on a holiday alone? Like, not even with a friend? How f*****g boring is that?” Mason opened his mouth to bite a response back but Greg beat him to it. “Shut the f**k up, Henry. Just because you don’t know how to live a single moment without precious little Carey or one of the ankle-biters pawing at you for some f*****g attention, don’t think the rest of us need that to survive. What the hell’s wrong with you? Do you purposely try to sound like a d**k or does it just come naturally?” “I actually like the sound of dicks.” Mason stepped between the two of them before anything else could be said. “Squishy ones, hard ones, wet ones, dry ones; they make such a lovely variety of sounds. Symphonic even.” He grinned in the resulting silence and tapped Greg’s arm. “So? Beer?” It took everything in Mason’s power not to laugh when Greg smiled at him and said politely, “Well now. That was fantastically disgusting.” * * * * The game was on above the bar, the jukebox played in the corner, and the beer was almost cold. While it wasn’t busy, there was enough of a crowd that they could both blend in, mostly unbothered but for the occasional refresh or washroom break. It was good, Mason decided; much better than sitting at home alone, even if he did have packing to do. “So, are you really going to go on vacation all by yourself?” Greg asked, leaning close enough for conversation but not taking his eyes off the game. Mason didn’t let the question bother him. Unlike Henry’s earlier distaste, he knew Greg meant well in asking. Perhaps even had concerns about it. “And this surprises you why?” Greg shrugged, and tried to catch the server’s eye. “Dunno. I guess it just seems kind of pointless to go away and—” he stopped talking and turned to look at Mason with a smirk. “Hey, it’s not one of those deviance getaways, is it? With like orgies and s**t?” Mason stared, pokerfaced. “Did we just meet?” The laugh that started to bark out of Greg’s mouth dissolved into carnal triumph as he finally secured the attention of their waitress. He watched Greg paste on a big grin, lean towards the waitress and shout-ask for an order of wings, smiling at the carefree way that his buddy managed to interact with humanity. Mason liked that. He liked it very much; enough that had the hairy bugger not been so insistently straight, their casual friendship would have been ruthlessly chased for more. Mason lowered his eyes to the table and chuckled at the thought. Well, maybe not ruthlessly. But definitely with every bit of his heart and talent. “So no seedy bunkers with panting young dudes ready to fulfill your every fantasy, hmm?” Greg asked, his eyes trailing after the departing girl. Mason laughed. “Just me and my palms, Greg. Like usual.” “Yeah, I never did figure that one out,” Greg said, suddenly serious. “I get the whole thing about how it’s probably harder to find someone to date when you’re in the, what? Thirty percentile or whatever the hell it is now. But, come on. You’ve got a f**k-ton of cash, you’re decent looking,” Greg shrugged, “or so I’ve been told. You drive kick-ass cars, and you own your own f*****g company. How is it you aren’t hooked up?” Mason reached for his glass but instead of bringing it to his mouth, he just stroked his fingers up it, collecting the balls of condensation as he went. “Because,” he explained, “I have a f**k-ton of cash, I drive kick-ass cars, and I own my own f*****g company.” He lifted his hand off the glass and watched the drops of liquid slip off his fingertips and fall to the table. “Apparently, those are the things most people see. And I’m not looking for one of those people.” When he looked up Greg was eyeing him with an expression that could have been distaste or gas pain. “Stop doing that,” Greg told him flatly. “It looks f*****g creepy and you’re going to freak out the entire bar.” “Bah,” Mason flicked his fingers, laughing when Greg flinched. “You mean freak you out. But all right, I’ll stop.” “Good,” Greg took a long drink from his glass and set it back down with a barely-contained belch. “And stop distracting me. We were talking about your out-of-the-blue vacation plans.” Mason shook his head. “It’s not out of the blue. I’ve been thinking about it for some time. It’s been too long since I’ve been up to the cottage.” “Then why haven’t you mentioned it? Or asked someone to go with you?” “Are you offering?” Mason teased, though the joke was belied by his gut’s clench at the thought. To the good, to the bad, Mason wasn’t even sure. As much as fantasy and fiction led one to hope for the possibility of conversion, Mason had too much experience in holding out for things that would never be. More likely a vacation like that, him and Greg in a solitary environment, would just leave him pining and frustrated. Greg snorted. “Yeah, not so much. I, unlike yourself, Mr. Moneybags, have to work for a living.” A shout drew both their attentions back to the television, a round of congratulatory whooping for the team of choice followed, and it was several minutes later before Greg said, “You should buy somebody.” Mason frowned. “Buy?” “You know,” Greg pantomimed the act of holding a phone to his ear. “I’d like to order a hot blond with a tight ass, preferably early twenties, to go.” Mason merely laughed and swallowed a mouthful of beer. “Or whatever. A smoking hot redhead, a little Asian fellow; whatever turns your crank.” “Thanks, but no thanks.” Mason nodded at the advancing waitress, carrying a tray of chicken wings that all but screamed their promise of saturated fats and intense spice that would be both delicious and destructive. “Why not?” Greg shifted glasses to make room for the platter before tapping the table and smiling at the waitress with unfettered glee. “It’s not a big deal. Everyone does it.” “No one does it.” “Everyone does it.” Mason set his glass down and glared. “Name one. One person, Greg. One person that you and I know that will validate this story and prove your elusive claim of everyone.” Greg took a drink from his own and eyed Mason right back. “One,” Mason prompted again. “Okay, maybe I can’t think of one right now,” Greg said with a sniff before lifting his finger and cutting off Mason’s retort. “But trust me! It’s a million dollar industry, buddy. Which means people are doing it. Besides, it’s not like I’m suggesting you start sniffing through dirty alleys for God’s sake. I’m talking about the real deal here. Professionals that get health tests and s**t, like, places where you can pay with your credit card and get references.” “They don’t exist, dumb ass.” Mason reached across table and snagged one of the wings. “This isn’t Hollywood.” “They do.” “They do not.” Greg laughed. “No, Mason, buddy, trust me. They really, really do.” “And you know this because…?” “Because everybody does it,” Greg repeated cryptically. “I’m not talking poor little girls sold into slavery here, Mase.” He chuckled at Mason’s eyebrow lift. “Or little boys in your case; whatever. I’m talking consenting adults, doing legitimate trade for the exchange of the almighty loonie. It’s like…you know, hiring a contractor or something.” “Right. And I suppose you just happen to know where I’d go about finding someplace like that too, hmm?” Greg set his beer down and frowned at Mason. “Are you asking? Or are you just jabbering?” That’s when it hit him—Greg wasn’t kidding. And something hungry in him answered before his mind had a chance to shut it down. “I guess I’m asking. I think. Maybe.” Yet even as tension stole back his fleeting braveness, his mind was racing with the possibilities. It was a stupid thought, really. But what if? What if he really could…well…hire someone…to just be there with him? To do things…to touch him…God; it had been too long since someone touched him. Way too long since he’d had the chance to lie beside someone. It got so hard to find someone in his circle that was both gay and out, harder still to find someone who wasn’t just looking to get their claws into his bank account. And he was too damn old to go barhopping for a one-night stand. “So is that a yes or a no?” He could afford it. That wouldn’t be an issue in the least. And it wasn’t like anyone would find out. Not anyone he cared about anyway. He would be hours from home, in a place way too rural to catch the eye of his friends or associates. “Mason?” A week. A whole f*****g week. Of someone that would be, at the very least, faking an interest in what he wanted. Someone that was doing everything in their power to make him feel good, in all kinds of ways. That was an alluring thought. Greg held his hand up to his mouth, speaking into it like it was some kind of communication device. “Earth to Mason, come in Mason.” Mason caught Greg’s eyes with his own and swallowed hard. He dropped the as yet untouched chicken wing on to his napkin, his appetite gone. “It’s a yes.”