In Safe Hands - 5. Chapter 5

In Safe Hands
by Riley Jericho

Chapter Five

An hour later, Miguel and his parents had long finished eating. He grew tired of waiting to see if Elliott would come back up to their apartment, and finally decided to go and look for him.

“I’m just going downstairs,” he said to his father, passing him in the hallway.

“If you’re looking for Elliott, son, I think they all went out.”

“They went out?”

“I saw them drive away more than half an hour ago, when I was down getting the post.”

Hiding his disappointment, Miguel just shrugged.

Back in his room, he lay back on his bed and picked up 'The Prisoner of Askaban'. Re-reading it, he was already part way through, and had expected to finish both it, and the next one, over this holiday. When it was just Mama, Papa and himself, even if they went to the beach most days, there often wasn't much more to do than read. It was fine, and he liked reading but, with Elliott around, he hadn't done much of that over the last days.

But now Elliott had gone out.

Without him.

He shook his head. There was nothing wrong with that, and he knew he was being ridiculous. Of course they would want to go out and do things as a family. They were on holiday, after all. Hopefully they would be back soon, though he was surprised at how disappointed he felt at being... abandoned.

There was something else that made him feel a bit down; something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, except that he felt guilty. It was because of what he’d done, he knew. Right here, on his bed, just before lunch after Elliott had left.

Giving up on Hogwarts, he stood and moved to the window, gazing out at everything and nothing.

Whatever people said, he hadn’t ‘become’ anything – at least not in the way that he realised many saw it. The only thing he’d ‘become’, was aware. Aware that what he was had a name.

Gay.

Even the awareness took some time to form. Looking back over his young life, he could see that, well before he had any inkling or understanding of sexuality, it had always been there. There had been little things that became pointers towards identifying how he ticked.

It was like the colour of his skin or the familiarity of the shape of his nose; it had been there so long, that he’d grown used to it. When he first ventured to use THAT word about himself, he already knew it fit.

Gay.

One thing he wasn’t able to do, was tell anybody; even his parents. He had no idea how they might react, even if he did. Maybe when I’m a bit older, he told himself. Perhaps if I go away to college or something, I can find a way of bringing it up. It certainly wouldn’t be soon.

On the other hand, increasingly, he wanted more. Wanted friendship with someone who understood – even to hold and touch another boy, in ways that heterosexual guys were usually dreaming of with their girlfriends. For God’s sake, Hugo and Yasmin were even having sex…or so one of the others had inferred! Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t.

He knew it wasn’t his fault that he was gay. He’d come to terms with that some time ago. There was little he could - or planned - to do to change it, but he knew he’d used Elliott. What had gone through his imagination in the half minute it had taken to blow – in fact what had been going through his mind the whole time the two of them had been playing that silly game with the cold after-sun cream - wasn’t fair or right. Now he felt he’d let Elliott down!

A part of him complained that this was being completely stupid. What the guy didn’t know about wasn’t going to hurt him, after all!

He still felt uneasy about it. Why it mattered...? Of THAT he still wasn't sure.

But, what if Elliott had got the idea that he’d come on to him somehow, he mused? Like yesterday when they’d been using the binoculars on the balcony. He hadn’t been able to help himself and had pressed against him. Just a bit. He just wanted to feel what it would be like to touch his warm skin. But he’d gone and popped a boner and had to hurry inside to sort it out.

Perhaps Elliott had guessed that, or somehow figured out that something was going on?

And again today, when he had been rubbing his back? He'd enjoyed that in ways that - fortunately - hadn't been obvious. Or maybe it was more obvious than he'd hoped and he’d embarrassed Elliott, who'd then decided to go out, to put some distance between them? Anything was possible and, the more he worried about it, the more uptight he got.

“Miguel, I’m making tea. Do you want one?”

“Yes please Mama. I’ll come and get it,” he called back.

For a few moments more, he pondered the rugged coastline before wandering down to the kitchen. Two minutes later, he had hot, sweet tea in a mug and was out on the balcony, leaning against the perspex screen, looking out over the town. Moody and distracted.

His father was out on the balcony too, reading the paper. He thought he could read the signs. “Don’t tell me – you’re bored. Why don’t you do something - or maybe go down to the pool?”

“Maybe.” Looking down at the water, Miguel shrugged. It just wasn’t as much fun by yourself.

He sighed to himself. The complete bummer of the whole situation was that he’d begun to wonder if Elliott was different.

Different in THAT way?

It was hard to tell. Maybe... Sometimes he could pick up vibes from people about whether their thing was guys or girls – though you could never really outright ask them! Perhaps that kind of thing came with the territory of being gay?

Alejandro, for instance. He’d instinctively known about him, even before Estela had told him last time they were down here. They didn’t seem to treat the guy any differently because of it. He’d considered telling them that he was gay too, but decided he wasn’t anywhere NEAR ready for that.

On the other hand, it was all probably a bunch of total crap. Nobody could tell he was gay, not even his parents. So why should he think that Elliott was ANYTHING like that? For God's sake, he'd even thought Hugo was into guys before he suddenly started dating Yasmin. He was so convinced, that he'd nearly made the fatal mistake of coming out to him! Even now, the hairs prickled on the back of his neck, when thought about how close that had been.

But Alejandro? No, there was no doubt about the confidently lanky teen. He’d seen his eyes going ALL OVER Elliott, that first day they’d played volleyball! Then the next day, when they’d paired off, Alejandro was straight into the American yet again, wanting to partner with him. Had he felt it about Elliott too?

He grunted in frustration at the world below him. He knew he was getting pettily jealous over Elliott, and really had no right to be. Of course he wouldn't be gay. Real life would never be that good! But even if he was, he actually didn’t seem to know it. Maybe he never would? If that was how it was, then he wasn’t going to push.

Just be who you are, he told himself, and if Elliott likes you for who and what you are…and if he comes back…then…

His thinking trailed off and was interrupted by a noise coming from inside the apartment. He turned, to see Elliott, bounding through the lounge.

“Quick! It’s melting bad!” Elliott carried an ice-cream cone and was ginning wildly. “Hope you like double choc!”

“You brought me an ice-cream? In this heat?”

“What’s left of it – I’m afraid I had to lick it, to stop the drips in the car.”

“You’re a complete nutter!”

“I know!” He swapped the cone for the mug. “Is this tea?”

“You can have it if you want – it has two sugars in it.”

“Miguel – the least you can do is make your friend a fresh cup!” muttered his father over the top of his paper.

“Thanks,” called Elliott as Miguel trudged off obediently, still working his way through the ice-cream. Elliott sat at the plastic table and waited politely.

“I love your paintings, Senor Ortiz." Elliott and Miguel’s father began to make light conversation. "I wish I could paint. Dad likes to, and I'm sure he'd appreciate some tips from you, if you were willing."

"Benedict is an artist,' replied Manny Ortiz in surprise, taking off his spectacles. "He never mentioned it?"

Dad an artist? He wouldn't go that far, grinned Elliott to himself. "He's kind of just learning, if you know what I mean."

"Your dad paints too?" Miguel came outside again, bearing a mug of tea, and picked up the tail-end of the conversation.

"Well," confessed Elliott, "maybe just slightly better than I play the guitar!"

Miguel burst out laughing.

"You play the guitar as well, Elliott?" Senor Ortiz looked surprised. "You two boys are just so alike!"

Miguel hooted, and eventually his dad caught up. "Oh...I see..." Elliott had picked up his guitar the day before. A classical nylon stringed instrument, he'd swung it over his knee in a professional looking manner.

"Oh, come on," Miguel had moaned. "Don't tell me you play the guitar as well!"

It took around 4 seconds, and 2 lines of the beach boys for him to realise the American had NOT the SLIGHTEST CLUE!

Miguel finished up his ice-cream cone and tea. "Come on - let's go swimming!"

"I've not drunk this yet!" Elliott complained.

"Come on, bring it with you." His eyes glinted with amusement. "You can give me a guitar lesson, while I get changed!"

I'm just gonna be me, Miguel reminded himself as Elliott, mug of tea in hand, followed him through the apartment to his bedroom. Unexpectedly, it was like a weight lifting from his shoulders. And the rest? The rest of this holiday, even the rest of his life – he could leave to God, or fate, or maybe...maybe just Elliott.

"Exactly!" he laughed. He felt almost jubilant with relief!

"Exactly what?” Curiously, Elliott followed Miguel into his room. “What the heck are you talking about?" Miguel just grinned.

"Come on, maestro. Play me something!"

Elliott sniggered. "You asked for it!" He picked up the guitar from the stand on which it rested, hit the strings without actually making any chord, and howled!

“You DEFINITELY need to keep the day job,” laughed Miguel, stepping into his bathroom to retrieve his speedos and a towel, for swimming.

Elliott perched on the bed and, through the open bathroom door, could hear the sound of Miguel peeing, just out of sight. “So, do you have lessons?” He put his finger on the strings, wondering how long it took to learn.

In the bathroom, the tickling stopped with two small bursts, as Miguel finished emptying his bladder. Elliott heard the toilet roll being pulled and smirked. Either he missed or he wipes it too! The toilet flushed and the tap ran for a few moments, before Miguel reappeared.

“Twice a week,” Miguel said, slipping off his shorts in preparation for donning speedos. Just be yourself, he reminded himself. It was like his guitar teacher said: the guitar isn’t meant to be kept in a case, Miguel. The case is only for getting it from A to B! He wasn’t going to hide himself in a case either.

He noticed Elliott glance at him, eyes drifting to the familiar underwear, not saying anything – just smiling. “Teach me a chord,” Elliott pleaded, pressing his fingers on the strings, but getting nothing that sounded melodic.

“OK – try this,” Miguel knelt down in front of him. “This is a G.” He twisted Elliott’s wrist and fingers around, to try to get them in position over the frets. Elliott strummed and it sounded buzzy. “You have to press harder.”

“It hurts!” Elliott grunted. He gave up and shook his wrist to loosen it up again. “You play something." Miguel took the instrument and settled onto the straight-backed chair.

His favourite piece was the Concierto De Aranjuez, but he suspected Elliott would know something else better, and began to pick out an opening stanza.

“Cavatina!”

Miguel nodded and continued to play the piece.

For Elliott Carter, it was one of the strongest, most potent, memories that he carried from those two weeks. Seeing Miguel, once more dressed down to just his briefs, was not a surprise. The guy just wasn’t made to live covered up. Perched on the chair, his brown skin and the flash of dark peach cotton became wrapped in the deep thrumming of his guitar, making a rich tapestry for the senses. Long and surprisingly supple, graceful fingers worked their way up and down the fret board, contorting into what seemed like impossible angles, without missing a beat or making a single false step. Other fingers carried both the underlying chord and plucked the melody out of the strings, with ease.

Entranced by sound and vision, Elliott let it carry him away, eventually closing his eyes and lying back on the bed, drifting to another place.

As he played the familiar bars, Miguel watched Elliott settle back, clearly enjoying the recital. He knew the piece well, and rarely needed to look at his fingers. Instead, he studied his unexpected friend, while he played.

He knew he was more than a bit infatuated with Elliott Carter. OK, he was infatuated BIG TIME, but he wasn’t going to let that spoil their days together. There was something about Elliott that he couldn’t put his finger on. Perhaps it was because he was home-schooled and had less rough edges? Whatever it was, there was something guileless and innocent about him. The guy didn’t even realise how special he was. Incredibly talented, but he didn’t push himself forward because of it. In fact, he was almost painfully shy at times.

Elliott would be like Cavatina.

You couldn’t hurry Cavatina. That’s what his teacher had said many, many times. ‘Miguel, you’re playing it like you’re in some desperate rush to get to the end. Slow down, for goodness sake! True passion and speed rarely make great bedfellows!’

In so many ways, Elliott was like a beautiful instrument, and he would play him. Not in a mean ‘using’ kind of way. NO, he was worth so MUCH more than that!

'Play it from here, Miguel' his teacher often pleaded, pointing to his heart, 'not here', pointing to the frets. From the depths of one's being came the real music of a soul. Likewise, he had no doubt that, from Elliott Carter, that music would be rich and sweet if really given the chance to flow.

The piece ended with the single completion note and, for long moments, both boys were quiet.

Finally Elliott stirred.

“Wow! I could listen to that all day," he breathed. "That was amazing!”

For once, Miguel sat silent before him, as if not knowing what to say. Finally, he broke the spell. “You mean instead of getting your lazy bum off my bed and going swimming?” Miguel laughed, returning the guitar to the stand.

Still captured by the richness of the previous minutes, it had unexpectedly left them with a legacy; a changed sense of affinity; of affection; of harmony. Elliott felt it, and he wondered if Miguel did too.

He watched quietly as, without any hesitation, Miguel slid down his sleek dark briefs and stepped out of them. Naked for a moment and not seeming to feel the need to turn away, he recovered his speedos from where he’d left both them, and the towel, on the end of his bed.

Other than his brother, Sam, it was the first time Elliott had ever studied another boy’s genitals. The equivalent patch of pubic hair was dark, but of similar bushiness to his own. The skin around Miguel’s groin - even along the length of his soft dick – was darker than his own. Other than that, Miguel looked almost exactly like him in size and girth. It was...

Miguel drew on his speedos. “Have you finished that tea yet?”

As if awaking from a spell, Elliott nodded and stood to go. They took the stairs down, detouring via the Carter’s apartment, and met his dad, dressed ready for pool too, at the door.

“Oh – there you are. Mom and the kids are already down at the pool.”

“We’re coming too, Dad. I’m just getting changed," said Elliott.

“OK – here’s the key. Lock up and bring it with you."

Inside, Elliott was surprised that Miguel didn’t follow him into his room. He’d kind of expected it, yet Miguel held back in the hall, waiting.

“Oh – I’ll just be a moment,” he said. He’d been wondering how he would handle getting changed. Silly really. Would he have had the confidence to bare all, like Miguel did, or would he turn towards the wall; even sneak into the bathroom? Probably one of the latter. Maybe. A week ago there would have been no question, but now, around Miguel, he just felt more relaxed; less shy. Elliott was surprised at the train of thought, but quickly changed into swim shorts.

Locking up and carrying towels, the two boys padded down the stairs, and out to the poolside.

* * *

"I'm thinking we might give the beach a miss tomorrow morning." The four adults were gathered around on sun loungers, talking. Rose was in conversion was with Isabella Ortiz, but speaking loud enough to constitute a non-negotiable announcement directed at her brood.

Elliott, ensconced on a lounger nearby, Iooked up and grimaced. "Awe, Mom, why? The beach is fun - we can sit round the pool later."

"I think you've had a little TOO much sun, sweetheart," she returned. "Look at you - your shoulders are bright red!"

"I'm fine, honestly. Plleeaase - we're in the middle of a volleyball tournament!"

"Then it will have to wait."

"I think that's quite wise, dear," put in Isabella Ortiz. "Boys do love the sun, but you can't be too careful in this heat!" She was around ten years older than Rose, and got away with her own motherly approach.

Rose nodded in agreement. "I was thinking I'll take Benedict and the kids shopping. I wanted to get them kitted out before we move to the States. There's going to be more than enough to sort out when we get there, without worrying about clothing!"

Elliott groaned to himself. That was it. That was her true agenda. Clothes shopping!

CRAP!

"Oh, excellent idea! There's some extremely good stores, not too far away." Isabella was enthusiastic. "I can give you directions." She pondered a moment. "In fact, we might pass that way too. I have to get a few things myself, don't I Manny."

"Do you dear?" he replied; cheerful but resigned.

"Manny and I," by which she probably meant herself, "were thinking it would be nice to cook a meal for you all, one day. Instead of eating out. A little traditional Spanish home cooking." She looked thoughtful. "Why don't we do this: go and do a little shopping in the morning, pick up a few essentials, and then I'll make us something to eat for mid afternoon?"

"Isabella, that's very kind! It's a lot of work for you."

"Oh pscchh," said Isabella, shaking her head.

"Then why don't you let me do the dessert," Rose insisted.

Oh-oh. Elliott cringed. Cooking war!

Isabella was far too generous a host to put her foot down, though her desserts were to die for. "That would be perfect Rosa (she tended to use the original Spanish version), thank you!"

"Can I prepare tapas, Mama?" added Miguel, eagerly joining in the food fray. Elliott twisted his head towards him. He was still in the water, but had his elbows on the edge and was following the discussion.

"You can cook? I don't believe it!"

"Not everyone's as allergic to the kitchen as you, sweetheart," said his Mom, dryly.

"Of course, Miguel," said Isobella, a touch of pride seeping into her voice.

"Elliott can help me, can't you Elli," added Miguel easily.

Rose Carter looked at her son in surprise. She glanced at Miguel and then back towards Elliott again. She could tell her son knew EXACTLY what she was thinking. He looked a little coy and a small smile crept onto his mouth.

Elli'?

They both knew that the number of friends he had allowed to call him that in his lifetime, could be counted on one hand! He'd even indicated he preferred she and Benedict to call him Elliott, rather than the more familiar diminutive. What passed between them was just for the two of them, and she didn't have the heart to embarrass him. She saw Benedict start to open his mouth and quickly cut him off at the pass.

"Well, Miguel, all I can say is good luck with that." She grinned, but her eyes glared at her husband and she shook her head imperceptibly. He got the message. "I hope he learns something useful from you."

"Bella, why don't we pick up a video for the evening, too?" suggested Manny Ortiz, hopefully. "There's lots of new ones out at the moment."

"Now that's a good idea, darling," replied Isabella. "I'll go via the store and hire one when we go out."

"I'm happy to do it..."

"I think we need something with a story, darling," she replied frankly. "As long as it's OK with you, Rosa? I'm sure we can find something suitable.”

"We haven't watched a good movie for years, have we Honey," Rose agreed, catching Benedict's eye. "It's a great idea."

Benedict looked thoughtful. "Well, we saw Tomb Raider a couple of weeks back, Hon..."

"Exactly my point!"

Elliott grinned. He and Sam had watched the movie with them that evening. They'd got a babysitter for Natty and gone out to the local cinema. He thought it was brilliant, but his Mom had been less enthusiastic, and bang went any chance of getting the video game for their PC!

"So, what's this cooking fetish that you seem to have, all about?" joked Elliott as he joined Miguel in the water for another dip.

"Fetish?" He eyed Elliott, speculatively, through narrowed eyes. "I don't believe it! You're jealous, 'cos I can cook."

"In your dreams, Spanish boy! I'm just concerned about food poisoning! So what are you going to make?"

"Not decided yet, Elli. We'll have to get the cook books out."

"Cook books?"

"Yes - have you not heard of such things? They have recipes in them – really, they're quite common, even in America!"

Elliott rolled his eyes and decided it wasn't even worth a response, at least not about that.

"Why d'ya call me Elli?" he probed. For some reason, Miguel had just started calling him that. He'd been waiting by the lift after he'd changed and they'd locked up the apartment, waiting for a ride for the two floors down to the ground level. Miguel had gone to the stairs. Come on Elli, don't be a lazy bum! he'd called, standing by the stairwell and holding open the door. He'd been calling him by the name ‘Elli’ ever since.

"Oh." Miguel looked a little crestfallen. "I thought it suited you - don't you like it?"

He hadn't been called Elli for years. It was complicated and quite hard to explain the mixture of friendship, loneliness and disappointment that had rather tarred the more familiar nickname.

Yet...somehow...

"Yes, I do like it," he admitted, both for the sake of Miguel, and even himself. It was a pleasure to see the flashing dark eyes and cheeky grin return.

"Well that's okay then," joked Miguel. "Elliott is a hell of a mouthful for a simple guy who only speaks Spanish, and can't even swear in Arabic!"

"Asshole!" replied Elliott good-naturally, sending a hefty spray of water Miguel's direction.

"Elliott…" His mother's warning was uttered from behind her book.

He cringed. God, that woman had ears that could probably hear him fart underwater!

"So are you going down to the beach in the morning then?" He and Miguel had drifted just a little more out of earshot. He wondered what time he would come back, so they could start lunch.

"You have to be kidding! I'm coming with you."

"It's only clothes shopping..."

"Don't you like shopping?"

"Mom usually chooses our stuff," Elliott admitted. He, Sam and Natty were only invited along to check sizes!

"You let your mother choose your clothing?" Miguel pulled a face. "It would be a total disaster if Mama did that! She has no idea about colour!"

"Well, not all the time," muttered Elliott. But most, he admitted.

"OK - then absolutely I'm coming," Miguel declared. "You’ll definitely need a second opinion!"