Part 3
*
They stop at a thrift store in Page. Toby has the overcoat he was wearing when Chris pulled him off the street and Chris has his leather jacket, so they’re not bereft of warm clothing, but the locals tell them to be prepared so they conscientiously browse woollen sweaters and knit hats. Toby buys boots to replace the cheap sneakers he bought in St Louis.
The woman behind the counter cheerily asks them if they've left their wives at home. Chris leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, "we've got them in the trunk." There's a glint in his eye and his tone is low and serious and for a moment Toby thinks the she might believe him.
But she smiles widely and giggles. "Oh, that's awful," she says.
Toby goes in search of a thermos while Chris goes for food supplies. They meet back at the car, Chris proudly holding up Twinkies and bananas.
"I haven't had these in years," Chris says, indicating the Twinkies. Toby remembers Holly begged him to buy Twinkies the last time he took her shopping. He told her they were full of chemicals that were bad for children's growing bodies.
"Give me a banana," Toby says.
"You don't want a Twinkie?"
"I don't want a fucking Twinkie," Toby says, but he smiles to himself when Chris isn't looking.
They stop at Jacob Lake Inn to fill the thermos with coffee before embarking on the North Rim. Toby drives. Chris winds the window down and leans his head out, enjoying the cold air on his face. Toby wraps himself in his overcoat and looks enviously at Chris, still dressed in a light sweater. Chris doesn't seem to feel the cold.
The man serving coffee at the Inn told them snow is expected in the next few days. They got here just before the winter shut down.
The road is buttressed on both sides by pine trees and Chris cranes his neck to take a longer look at the view from the pull off points they pass. Eventually he gets impatient.
"So when do we get to see something?"
"We'll stop at Cape Royal," Toby says. "It's tourist friendly - and it's got a better view."
"Who needs tourists?" Chris says. "We've got you and me and all this." He waves a hand at the view outside the window.
"We don't have bathrooms, water or safety ledges," Toby says.
Chris laughs. "That's my pretty boy," he says. "Gotta have the comforts of home."
"Who are you calling pretty? You check yourself in the rearview mirror more often than you check for traffic."
"I do not, Toby. You’re dreaming."
"You're more obsessed with your appearance than you are with your dick. You would stand in front of the mirror in our pod flexing your muscles. Did you think I wasn't watching?"
"I knew you were watching. I was doing it for you."
"Chris, when you caught me watching you pretended you were checking your scar."
"I *was* checking my scar."
Chris sounds indignant but he's smiling. Maybe he's just glad Toby notices the little things, things only a lover would notice.
"Well, if it's any incentive," Toby says. "We'll stop at Cape Royal where there's a bathroom mirror and you can 'check your scar' again."
"Fuck you," Chris says.
They reach Cape Royal in the early afternoon. Toby leans on the station wagon soaking up the sun while Chris smokes another cigarette. The smell of Chris's cigarette contrasts sharply with the mountain air. It's not unpleasant, just different. Even cigarette smoke smells fresh at this altitude.
"Let's go," Chris says, stubbing his cigarette out in the interior ashtray.
They set off on the path from the parking lot to the viewing point. Toby thrust his hands in his pockets, regretting not buying gloves.
Chris stops occasionally to read the signs by the path. He reads out loud, pronounces the genus names for flora and fauna phonetically. It reminds Toby of summer camp nature walks and lectures on vegetation and native animals and the dangers of wild berries. Toby tries to imagine Chris at summer camp. He’d be the kid who got into trouble for stealing a boat and crossing the lake to the girl’s camp. He’d get tossed out of camp but all the other kids would look at him in awe. Toby smiles at the thought.
"What are you smiling at?" Chris says, coming up alongside Toby.
"Nothing," Toby says. He touches Chris's arm. "This is nice."
"This is fucking beautiful," Chris says, and he grabs Toby by the sleeves and pulls him into a kiss. "I could fuck you right here," he says, when he breaks away.
"Don't," Toby says. He looks around but no one is watching. Chris laughs.
They continue along the path until it breaks open and they get their first view of the canyon.
"Fuck," Chris says.
"Fuck," Toby says. It’s the most appropriate thing to say.
The path doesn't stop but heads out over a long peninsula with sheer drops on both sides and a hole in the centre.
"Angels Window," Toby says. Chris looks at him. "I read the brochures," Toby says.
They keep walking out along the peninsula. Toby feels a tremor in his legs: mild vertigo. He concentrates on the view and eventually it goes away. He had the same feeling the first time he looked out his boss’s 30th storey, corner office window. Chris seems unaffected.
There’s a lookout at the end of the peninsula. Chris tilts himself over the railing, looks down like he's trying to see the floor. "Race you to the bottom," he says, and he winks at Toby.
Toby wants to pull him away from the edge, just like he did when Gary pressed his fingers on the railing at the South Rim, angling his body toward the abyss.
Toby lets Chris dangle over the edge. There are worse ways to die.
Toby’s memory doesn't do the view justice. It's tainted by travel guide pictures and postcards and the photos Genevieve took with her hair blowing across the lens.
"When I was six I climbed up on the garage roof and threw myself off," Toby says, suddenly. "I wanted to see if I could fly." He doesn't know why he says it. Maybe he wants to remember a time when he wasn't afraid.
"Yeah?" Chris said. "Bet that hurt."
"I landed on the grass," Toby says. "No breakages. Plenty of bruises, though. Apparently I learned how to roll with the fall."
"If I throw you off the edge here you won't be so lucky," Chris says, grinning.
"I'd take you with me."
Chris smiles, looks over the edge, squinting his eyes as if trying to see something in the distance. "What a way to go," he says.
A couple make their way out onto the peninsula. They're speaking German and Toby catches phrases remembered from college classes. The girl is telling her boyfriend that if he wanted lunch at the canyon he should have remembered to bring it himself. The boy is asking why he has to remember everything. Different language, same story.
Chris and Toby leave the lookout to the arguing German couple and head back along the peninsula.
The path leads to other lookout points so they keep walking. Along the way, they meet a woman who tells them that the North Rim is best seen at sunset.
"We saw it last night from Bright Angel Point," she says. She indicates her husband who is looking over a viewpoint further up the trail. "The lodge is quiet so there aren't too many tourists. Very romantic."
Toby looks at the ground. He wonders when they started appearing gay to strangers.
The woman leaves them behind and catches up with her husband. Chris and Toby keep walking.
"She thinks we're fags," Chris says.
"She thinks we're together," Toby says. "She made a comment on us, not our lifestyle."
"It's all the same to them."
"What the fuck does it matter, Chris. Who cares what they think?"
"We're not fags!"
He says it in a forced whisper but Toby's sure the people at the far viewpoint heard. Sexuality is so twisted in Chris's mind even Toby doesn't understand it. Chris hates labels: gay, faggot, homosexual, even bisexual sits uncomfortably with him. When asked, Chris will say he's straight. When asked, Toby will say he's confused.
"Do you want to see the sunset?" Toby says.
"Fuck, yeah," Chris says.
The Lodge gives them an opportunity to drink more coffee and watch tourists while they wait for the sun to go down.
The lodge is full of couples. Chris labels them: "married," "living together," "affair," "trying to get into her pants."
"How can you tell?" Toby says.
"I can't," Chris says. "But they're more interesting this way."
Toby indicates the "married" couple. "She's sleeping with his best friend."
"So is he."
"The girl in the red sweater has sexual fantasies about Britney Spears."
"Who doesn't?" Chris says.
Toby laughs. "Her boyfriend fantasizes about Justin Timberlake."
"Who the fuck is Justin Timberlake?"
"Never mind," Toby says. "Just know they're perfect for each other."
Chris plays with his teaspoon, spins it round on its head, his finger on the tip of the handle. He takes his finger away and it falls over. He doesn't pick it up again.
"What happened to the teacher?" Chris says.
"What?"
"You were dating your kid's teacher. What happened to her?"
"I guess she's wondering where the fuck I am."
"You're still seeing her?"
"No, I'm on the other side of the fucking country with you."
"You know what I mean."
Chris picks up the spoon and spins it on its head again. Toby watches it. 19th century mesmerists used spinning objects to induce a trance state. Chris knows tricks he doesn't understand. "I was still seeing her," Toby says.
"That's - six months," Chris says. "You were serious about her."
Toby was serious about Marion in the way he was serious about being a good father and a good lawyer and good parolee. Turns out he's none of those things. "I guess so," he says.
"Were you in love with her?"
He thought he was. Compared to Chris everything else is mundane, like monochrome compared to full colour. "I don't know."
Chris stops playing with his teaspoon, puts it to rest in his now empty coffee cup. "Sun's going down in an hour," he says.
"Yeah." Toby says. "Yeah, okay."
They walk out to the point. There's a small throng of tourists, nothing overbearing. The sun is already bouncing off the rock face on the other side of the canyon, already tinting the scenery with oranges and yellows. It's breathtaking, too beautiful to mar with words. They watch in silence, side by side, close but not touching. Toby feels calm for the first time in days. If only it could be like this all the time. Maybe then they'd have a chance.
Eventually, Chris says, "What are you thinking about?"
Toby doesn't look at him. "You," he says.
Chris. Always Chris.
*
Chris takes the drive back slow, reluctant to leave. There's nothing to see outside but darkness, occasionally dotted by the headlights of a car in the distance. Toby flips radio stations, finds nothing bearable and gives up.
Chris is waxing theoretical on living at the bottom of the canyon. "What about electricity?" he says. "You see any powerlines down there? No TV, no telephone - kind of boring, don't you think?"
"Maybe they have a generator?" Toby doesn't know what he's saying. He's not really paying attention.
"A generator?"
"Maybe they just talk to each other?"
"Maybe they fuck each other," Chris says. Toby admires Chris's ability to bring everything back to sex. "I bet there's a lot of in-breeding going on down there."
"They're not stuck down there," Toby says.
"So you climb to the top every time you want some action? No one has that much energy."
Toby doesn't answer. Holly and Gary wanted to ride the donkeys that took the tourists to the canyon floor. They didn't have time. He promised them, "one day when you're older."
"Chris," he says. "I need to call my family."
"You can't."
Chris is right, he can't. Digitalisation has made short work of tracing. Even cell phones can be located by triangularisation. His father's law firm hired a private detective company for this purpose. It's rote work. Easy money for a PI.
Letters, emails, text messages - all would give away their location. There’s no real solution but Toby can’t bear the thought of never seeing his children again. It's not the first time he wonders what he's doing.
"Toby?" Chris says.
"I know," Toby says.
Chris reaches over and grasps Toby's knee, trails his hand up toward the thigh. "Trust me, Toby, I'll look after you."
Toby can't decide whether to laugh or cry.
*
Toby feels Chris's hand on his shoulder, shaking it gently.
"Toby," he says. "Toby, it's Vegas."
Toby blinks. It was night when he fell asleep and now stark daylight hurts his eyes. He looks outside and sees a McDonalds, two paint-faded motels and more signs than anyone can read at 40 miles per hour.
"Great," Toby says, and he shuts his eyes and leans his head back. Vegas can wait.
Chris shakes his shoulder again. "Toby, it's fucking Vegas. We're here."
"I'm sleeping."
"Toby, you've been asleep for six hours."
That wakes Toby up. "I have?"
"I tried to wake you when I stopped at that roadhouse past the lakes. I had to check to see if you were still breathing."
Toby rubs his eyes. Chris drove for six hours in silence. That must have been hard for him. "Fuck," Toby says. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was so tired."
"Forget it," Chris says. "We're here now."
Toby takes a good look outside. There’s still nothing to see.
"Okay," Toby says. "We're here. Now what?"
"I know a guy who owns a garage in Henderson. He can help us out."
"Help us out how?"
"A job maybe."
"What kind of job?"
"A real fucking job. And before you ask, I didn't meet him in prison and I didn't fuck him."
Toby holds up his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm just trying to keep us out of trouble."
"One of these days you’re going to have to trust me," Chris says. "Would that be so fucking hard?"
Toby wonders if it’s even possible. Still, they’ve gotten this far. They got all the way to Vegas and last night they watched the sun set over the Grand Canyon. That should count for something.
Toby stares at the traffic. "Okay, so let's go see your friend." He emphasises "friend." Chris gives him a sideways look, scowls.
Chris's memory of Vegas is vague so they drive around the same block twice looking for the garage. Eventually Chris decides it's another block over. It's not there either and Chris curses everything from the street signs to the steering wheel before turning around and going back the way they came.
"When was the last time you heard from this guy?" Toby asks.
"A month, maybe two months ago," Chris says. "Same address as always."
"He wrote to you?"
"Yeah, he does that sometimes."
It piques Toby's curiosity. "Who is he?"
"Dougie," Chris says. "I've known him a long time. He's okay - never been in trouble."
Toby wonders how it is that Chris has a friend he hasn’t met in prison. Or fucked. Or married. He can ‘t imagine Chris around ordinary people.
Suddenly Chris slams on the breaks, looks behind him and puts the car in reverse. They come to a stop in front of a florist. "That place," Chris says, pointing. "I remember that place."
There's a drugstore on the corner next to the florist. Chris turns left past the drugstore and past the used car dealer next to it. Next to that is a parking lot but on the lot after that there's a garage with a sign out the front saying, "McLally's Tow and Repair".
There's an open workshop with two hydraulic lifts hoisting the cars above the heads of the mechanics. A solitary tow-truck is parked out the front. There’s rust on the bumper and no tread on the tyres. It looks like it never leaves. Chris parks the car in the parking spots on the opposite side.
"Which one is he?" Toby says. There are three mechanics in the workshop, all covered in the same blue, grease covered overalls.
"That one," Chris says, and he points to the single mechanic who has noticed their arrival. He’s coming toward them.
Chris gets out and waves.
"Fucking Jesus," Dougie says. "Chris, is that you?"
Chris wraps his arms around Dougie in a bear hug, plants a kiss on the side of his head in true Chris fashion. All very masculine. "Long time no see, huh?" Chris says.
Dougie looks older than Chris, but not much. His hair is just longer than his ears and he has long sideburns - a little Elvis and a little Nick Cave. Very Vegas.
Dougie hugs Chris back. "I thought you were in Oz," he says. He releases Chris and puts his chin in his hand. "I wrote you in Oz. When did you get out?"
"A couple of weeks ago. I won my appeal," Chris says. "Finally got myself a good lawyer." He winks at Toby. Toby tries not to roll his eyes.
"What brings you to Vegas?" Dougie says.
"Toby here wanted to see the Grand Canyon," Chris says.
Toby doesn’t bother to correct him. He shakes Dougies hand and they make small talk about the canyon. Dougie looks at Toby like he’s putting two and two together and coming up with four.
"We're thinking of staying a while," Chris says. "I’m looking for work – got anything?"
"We don’t do a lot of motorcycles here," Dougie says. "Maybe next week?"
Chris shrugs. "Sure."
Dougie looks at Toby. "Don't suppose you do books?" Toby wonders why they always pick him for the geek. " We lost our book-keeper a week ago. The accounts are a mess."
"Toby's a lawyer," Chris says.
"No shit," Dougie says.
"Former lawyer," Toby says.
"If you can use a calculator, you're hired," Dougie says.
"He'll do it," Chris says.
"It’s really not my area…," Toby says.
"He'll do it," Chris says, again.
Toby looks at Chris, looks at Dougie and then looks at Chris again. "Okay, whatever."
"Great," Dougie says. "Start tomorrow - if that's okay. And I think I can get you somewhere to stay." Dougie waves over one of the blue overalled mechanics and asks about a rental. It’s above a convenience store. Just vacated. He mentions someone called "Lovejoy" and the mechanic pats his pockets looking for a phone number. Eventually he gives up, takes Chris into the office to use the phone.
"Who's Lovejoy?" Toby asks Dougie.
"Landlord," Dougie says. "He owns the car lot next door. A real asshole. But the place is cheap and it's got a bed. One bed." Dougie emphasises the "one".
Toby says, "How do you know Chris?"
"Foster care," Dougie says. "He didn't tell you that?"
"Not specifically," Toby says. He’s secretly relieved to learn at least one story Chris told him is true.
"You tell me something," Dougie says. "Are you and he together."
"Yeah," Toby says.
"Shit," Dougie stamps the ground. "I knew it. I mean, he had a girl last time I saw him - big girl - and he got married a couple of times before that but he never seemed to mind who was flirting with him. Men, women, aliens - all the same to Chris."
Toby gives a wry laugh. "Yeah," he says. "He gets around."
Chris comes out of the office. "He can meet us there," he says, waving a piece of paper.
"Come back later," Dougie says to Toby. "We'll have a beer."
"Sure," Chris says. He smiles at them both. Chris always knows when someone's talking about him.
Back in the car, Chris studies a hand-drawn map. "It's not far from here," he says, absently.
"Dougie says you were in foster care together," Toby says.
Chris shrugs. "Not for long. He left when he was sixteen."
"How old were you?"
"Twelve."
"Did you miss him?"
Chris starts the car, pulls out of the garage parking lot. "Nah, kids came and went. You never got used to anyone."
It's a lie. Toby can see it in the way Chris is studying the road without falter. Everybody leaves. Chris learned that lesson a lot sooner than most.
"I know nothing about book-keeping," Toby says.
"You'll wing it," Chris says.
*
The apartment is just a room. Four walls and a bathroom. There’s miscellaneous furniture including a bed tucked into the far corner, barely a double.
Lovejoy is cheap, polyester suited sleaze. He's in his early forties, wears a gold pin on his tie and wax in his hair. His look suggests affluence but there's no getting away from the fact that he doesn't know how to wear a suit. He tells them he owns property all over Vegas. He says, "You want anything, just ask." And he doesn’t have to explain "anything."
He gives them the address of his office - a strip joint called, "Cream." He claims to have bedded every girl there but it doesn’t stop him from taking a long look at Chris’s midriff when he stretches. It’s not even subtle.
"So you're a lawyer," he says to Toby.
"Former lawyer." Toby feels like a broken record.
"I could use a guy like you," Lovejoy says. He leers a little. Chris stands behind Lovejoy and grins at Toby. Chris has Lovejoy pegged already. Chris is a quick study. "If you need some extra cash."
"I'll keep that in mind," Toby says.
"He wants your ass," Chris says, when Lovejoy has gone. He leaves them the keys and tells them to make themselves "comfortable."
"Funny," Toby says. "He seemed more interested in yours."
Chris goes to the sink and turns the water on, rinses out the thermos they bought in Page and fills it with water. "Well," he says. "If we're behind on the rent we've got options."
Toby doesn't want to think about that prospect. "Please," he says. "Not before lunch."
Chris drinks from the thermos, hands it to Toby. Toby takes a sip and hands it back. "So what do you think?" Chris says.
"It's fine," Toby says. "Needs a clean."
"Sure," Chris says. "We'll clean it up, throw a rug down, put a couple of prints on the walls and call it home, sweet home."
"That's your job," Toby says. "I'm the breadwinner, remember."
"Is that so?" Chris gives Toby a sly smile, puts the thermos on the sink, and grabs Toby's waist. He steers Toby toward the bed and throws him backward on top. Chris undoes his belt. "We'll see who wears the pants around here," he says.
Toby laughs. He reaches for his own belt and gets a smack on the hand for his trouble. "You'll get undressed when I undress you," Chris says.
Toby lays back, laces his fingers underneath his head and watches Chris take off his jeans. "I guess I'll just lie back and watch," Toby says.
"You do that," Chris says. He peels his t-shirt off and then he's naked, standing before Toby, stroking his erection.
It's mesmerising. "God, you're beautiful," Toby says. He doesn't realise he's said it until it's out there. He blushes, furiously.
Chris basks in the compliment. It's probably not the first time he's been told. He takes flattery well, like he expects it. He undresses Toby, working his way up Toby’s body: shoes, jeans, t-shirt. He brushes Toby’s erection as he works his way up, just lightly, like it’s an accident.
When Toby is naked, Chris appraises him. He leans back, knees either side of Toby's thighs. "And you're all mine," Chris says.
He descends on Toby, grasps his hips just above the curve of his buttocks and clenches them in his fists. He sucks Toby's cock, from the bottom of the shaft and all the way to head until he's swallowing Toby whole.
Toby's clenches the bare mattress. It's rough in patches and smells dusty the way old furniture does. It’s about to be baptised, become sacred.
Chris works Toby's cock, works it so hard and fast Toby doesn't think he can hold on. He wants it to last, wants to draw the feeling out forever. Toby concentrates on his breathing, watches the ceiling, doesn't look at Chris.
And then Chris's fingers drift along the perineum to Toby's ass, touches him gently on the outside before sliding in. Chris massages Toby for a while, lets him get used to the feeling of Chris inside him.
Toby lifts his hips, invitingly toward Chris. "Do it," he says. "Please…"
"Soon," Chris says. "Real soon."
"Now."
"Be patient," Chris says. His fingers flex inside Toby.
Toby grunts, shifts his hips around Chris's fingers. "Chris..."
Chris puts two fingers on Toby's shaft, slides them slowly up to the tip, lets them dance there as Toby's cock jerks toward them. Chris laughs like a small child discovering his penis for the first time, learning what it can do. He draws his finger back down toward Toby's balls. And then he takes his hand away, reaches behind him to the floor and fumbles in his jeans.
Toby times his breathing: in, one-two-three-four, out, one-two-three-four…
Chris spreads lube over his fingers before taking his cock in his fist and jerking off slowly.
Toby lets himself watch. Chris stroking himself is poetry, pure art. Chris touches himself the way he touches Toby, like he’s something exquisite.
Eventually Chris turns back to Toby. He lifts Toby's hips toward him, wraps himself in Toby's legs. He slides his cock into Toby, slowly, so the feeling is drawn out. So Toby can feel him going in, inch by inch.
Chris fucks him, lazily. Moves in and out building a measured pace. They breathe in synchronisation, like an organ.
"Tell me it was worth it," Chris says. He shifts inside Toby, a slight movement, a tease. Sweat beads on Chris's brow. He's breathes out and in again, each breath careful and laboured. He holds his position, gives Toby time to feel every move he makes. "Leaving your family, leaving your job, tell me it was worth it."
Toby aches inside, aches where his children aren't, aches for the life he could have had, aches for his son, his father, Schillinger's sons, Said, Hill, Barlog, Cyril, Guenzel, even Adebisi - the long line of dead behind him.
He aches and sometimes, when Chris is inside him, he thinks he can bear it. If only he can have this man, so perfect in his imperfection.
"It was worth it," Toby says. He is parched and dry. He needs moisture, needs Chris, oh god Chris, moving inside him now, unrestrained, fucking him harder and harder, leaning into Toby, mouth on mouth when he comes, a long and low growl in his throat.
"Fuck, fuck," Chris says, mouthing the words against Toby’s neck.
*