Nowhere Man

Chapter 1Bobby stared at the address scrawled on the hotel stationery. It couldn’t be right. There was absolutely no way Dr. Parley Taylor, author of The Smoke Seekers and Little David, two-time finalist for the National Book Award, one of the most brilliant literary minds in contemporary culture, could live in this rundown tenement in the worst slum of Kansas City. A homeless man jostled his elbow. Bobby stepped out of his way, but the grizzled figure cursed at him anyway, shooting a dirty look from beneath eyebrows more Brillo pad than hair. Inconceivable. But all his research from the past four months had led him to Kansas City. And the private detective had been adamant this was the same man. Bobby had no choice but to follow it through to the end. Tucking the paper into his jacket pocket, he glanced up at the overcast sky before climbing the steps to the apartment building. Though there was a security pad to the left of the doorway, the broken handle said it probably hadn’t worked in years, maybe even decades. Bobby pulled it open and gritted his teeth against the stale scent that assaulted his nose as soon as he crossed the threshold. Dr. Taylor had a basement apartment. Bobby descended the narrow stairwell, staying as much to the center of the risers as he could. Dust coated the walls, but at least the smell seemed to dissipate as he reached the lower floor. It was a small comfort as he found the door marked 4B. The green paint was chipped, and the peephole had long been covered. In spite of his reservations, Bobby’s stomach lurched in excitement. This could be it. He could finally meet the man he’d been studying, the writer he’d been analyzing, face to face. All it took was a single knock. And nearly three minutes of waiting. Bobby wondered if he should knock again. Maybe Dr. Taylor wasn’t home? Maybe he didn’t hear him? The wait was just long enough to start doubting himself, and he began to concoct a cover story in case he had the wrong apartment. As soon as the door opened, Bobby knew it was not the wrong apartment. The occupant peered at him from blurry eyes. Deeply etched lines made him look older than his forty-one years, and his clothes had seen better days. They were free of any gross stains, and the man didn’t stink, but his T-shirt was faded and tattered, and his jeans were almost threadbare. But there was no doubt in Bobby’s mind. This was Dr. Parley Taylor. “What do you want?” He’d practiced how he would approach the man from the moment he made his decision, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of addressing him in the bowels of a building’s carcass, looking like he hadn’t seen daylight in months. There were shades of the sharp attraction that had graced his book covers—the angular jaw, the slightly aquiline nose, the full lower lip that was as ready to pout as it was to smile—but those were masked by pallor and wary belligerence. This was the man whose picture had driven Bobby into a bathroom in order to jerk off the first time he’d seen it? It was almost as unbelievable as his living conditions. “To find you, actually. You’re a very hard man to find, Dr. Taylor.” “Yeah. Imagine that. A man who doesn’t want company is difficult to find. If I owe you money, call my lawyer. If you’re asking for money, I haven’t got any.” Taylor raked his eyes over Bobby’s form, his expression unchanging. “You don’t look like you’re here to tell me about the Glory of Heaven, but I’m not really interested in that, either.” “No, no glory from me,” he tried to joke. Taylor didn’t even crack a smile. It left Bobby wondering how he was going to get through to the man. Flattery probably wasn’t going to work. Bribery even less so. And if he came out and asked for the help he was looking for, Bobby was pretty sure the door would get slammed in his face. So he just had to make sure he was on the other side of it before that happened. “I never expected to find you in Kansas City,” he said, shouldering his way into the apartment. He knocked the other man slightly off balance, but that was inevitable when you had six inches and thirty pounds on someone. “All your family’s still on the west coast, isn’t it?” Bobby expected the apartment to be as cluttered and dirty as the rest of the building, but the space was surprisingly clean. Well, maybe not so surprising—Dr. Taylor didn’t seem to have much in material possessions. He had a television against the wall, and a computer beside it. DVDs, books, CDs, magazines, and newspapers were stacked in straight rows against the wall. The kitchen consisted of a sink, a two-burner stove, and a small fridge. Bobby wouldn’t be surprised if Dr. Taylor subsisted off takeout and delivery. But the floors were clean, and the walls might have had a fresh paint, and the couch looked almost new. It may have been Taylor’s cave away from the world, but it was far from a hovel. “It sounds like you would know better than me.” Dr. Taylor stayed beside the open door, like he expected Bobby to leave very soon. “What else can you tell me about my life?” He leveled a steady blue gaze that had intimidated more than one freshman in the basic lit classes he taught. “I know you wrote Little David in six weeks, and got it accepted for publication in three. I know everybody expected The Smoke Seekers to win, and there was an outcry when it didn’t. And I know you haven’t published anything in almost eight years. Your ex-agent said she hasn’t even heard from you since you left California. Can you tell me why a man as brilliant as you would try and hide from the world at the height of his career?” “For giggles. I got bored. And I’m about to get bored with you, too. Why do you have such an interest in my life? Seems a bit unhealthy to me. Perhaps you should go see a shrink.” “It’s not your life I’m interested in. It’s your work. Your books are the only reason I’m about to get my MA in modern American literature.” “Wow, it’s worse than I thought.” Dr. Taylor shook his head. “Sorry, not even a good shrink can help you now. If you were going to get an MA, you should have at least studied something worth knowing.” Bobby frowned. “I don’t think it’s a waste of time to appreciate brilliant writing.” “Yeah, well, call me in ten years when you realize you’ve wasted your youth on so-called brilliant writing.” Dr. Taylor gestured at the door. “I’ll make a note of it in my date book, I promise.” “Is that why you’re hiding? You think you wasted your youth?” Taylor snorted. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly it. Somebody told me I could recapture it in a basement in Kansas City. I was skeptical at first, but things are really looking up for me.” “Well, then, what was it? Because I haven’t been able to figure it out.” Bobby swept a more discerning gaze over the other man. His body was lean, the forearms muscled. He might look sick, but he wasn’t wasting away. “Are you even writing anymore?” The corner of Taylor’s mouth lifted. “Sure, I write all the time. The grocery list. Checks. An occasional grumpy letter to the editor.” He kicked the door closed. “As for why I’m here, it’s none of your business. Besides, your reason for being here is far more interesting. You can write your thesis or your seminar papers or whatever the hell it is you’re doing without traveling all the way to good ol’ KC.” He took the click of the latch as a sign to relax. He wasn’t getting kicked out. Not yet, anyway. But he couldn’t give Dr. Taylor the answer he was digging for. Somehow, he was pretty sure, Hi, my name is Bobby Kendrick, and I’ve been in lust with you since I was fifteen, would elicit a stronger response than anything else he’d done so far. It didn’t matter that he was twenty-three now, or that he’d had his fair share of lovers since first realizing he was gay, or that he mostly believed it was as much jealousy about how damn talented Taylor was. Telling the man you’d hunted down that you wanted to split his ass until he screamed your name usually came with an immediate restraining order. “But I can’t interview you if I’m not here,” he said smoothly. “And you don’t have a phone.” “Here’s the funny thing. Most people would see the lack of a telephone as an indication that I don’t want to be bothered, not an invitation to come knock on my door.” Taylor advanced toward him, but Bobby refused to take a step back. He wasn’t going to let the other man intimidate him, even if he did look a little like a predator about to corner his prey. “What do you think?” Bobby shrugged. “I think anything worth its salt is worth working for a little harder. No phone could have meant any number of things.” He smiled. “Call me an optimist. I chose to believe you were a technophobe, not a coward.” “A coward? What do you think I’m afraid of? Some know-it-all little s**t will invade my home and ask a bunch of dull questions about dull books that everybody stopped caring about years ago? The fear of that eventuality positively keeps me up at night.” Taylor stopped moving, but not until their chests were nearly touching. “Is it fair to assign motivations to you? I choose to believe you’re looking for something a little more basic than conversation.” He might be young, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew Taylor was trying to drive him away, test boundaries in order to freak him out or some other s**t like that. But he didn’t back away from anything. Especially when what Taylor offered sounded exactly like what he’d been fantasizing for years. “If you really didn’t want me here, you’d call 911. Maybe there’s a little bit of pride still in there someplace. A piece of you that remembers just how right your words really were.” “You don’t get it, do you? I haven’t been pining away the last several years, waiting for somebody to finally see me for who I am and rescue me from my basement. There’s only one thing I want anybody around for, and I don’t think you’re up to it.” Bobby paused. Dr. Taylor had never made his sexuality a secret; it was yet another reason why he had admired the man so early on. Taylor acted as if being gay was the same as having brown hair, or being double-jointed, or being able to curl your tongue. It was just a fact of nature, and he’d never cared about condemnation or ridicule that it might cause. But he didn’t know Bobby was gay, did he? He couldn’t. Nobody ever did. It was another test. It had to be. “You have no idea what I’m capable of,” Bobby said. “You know nothing about me. You don’t even know my name.” “I don’t really care either, but since you’re here, you might as well enlighten me.” “Bobby.” It was ground gained. “Bobby Kendrick.” “Bobby? What are you? Twelve? Do you have a grown-up name?” “No, I’ve got a mother who admired Bobby Kennedy. Did yours have a thing for pirates?” “I don’t know. Too bad I didn’t think to ask her before she died. Is there anything else you feel I need to know about you?” “Yeah. I don’t give up. No matter what.” “That’s extremely admirable. Really, I’m impressed. Well, Bobby Kendrick, it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance, but I think you should go find somebody else to harass. Unless you want to stay and keep me company.” “It’s funny, but you’re not acting too harassed. Annoyed, maybe.” Without looking away, he crossed the few feet to the couch and sat down, stretching his arm along the back as he lounged in the corner. “I don’t have to be anywhere. Do you?” “I’m wondering if I should be flattered that you’ve cleared your whole schedule to spend time in my basement, or just sad for you.” Taylor towered over him for a moment before settling on the other side of the couch. “But I don’t have anywhere else to be. I didn’t have any plans today, except downloading some porn later.”