Dignity - a novel - 14. Chapter 14: Brass Ring

Chapter 14: Brass Ring

I can't believe it’s November already, somehow I didn't think I'd…oh, well. That reminds me, I'll have to text Dawn later today, I guess I have been neglecting her since, well, since the rooftop, hehehe.

But right now, I'm standing with Lincoln Oliver at his closet door. I pick out a lightweight coat and slip it on.

I close his closet, and watch him for a sec in the mirror attached to it. Linc sits on his bed, here in the room he shares with Damien, and kicks his hands back in an easy attitude. His feet come out, and cross over each other.

Happier than just a minute ago, I turn to my own image. I do a cool pose, toss my chin up to myself, and ask, "Sup?"

Lincoln laughs. "That one's not too big. Take it."

"Ya think?" I preen to see how my ass looks, then check the sleeve length. Now I regret not packing any of my Ohio cold-weather gear. Who knew I'd see anything but summer out here in California?

Once again I catch Linc's warm smile for me reflected in the mirror, and I feel – I mean – I do feel grateful, but also a little wary. I swallow that thought down and turn on my heels. I click on my high-beam grin, and saunter over to him. His hands come out, take me by the waist and pull me into him. He hugs me, his head presses against my belly, and my hands slide into his longish blond hair and comb it gently.

"Thank you," I say.

"For the jacket? No problem."

"Un-uh. For the jacket, yes, but for this, Linc – for this – thank you."

I yank on his hair a little bit. "You know what's so great about being here, with you, for one month?"

Linc turns a shit-eating grin up to me. "My general studliness…my stunning good looks…my always sparkling breath…"

I ignore him. "It's that after a month, I've seen most of your annoying features, and, they're not so bad."

Lincoln Oliver tightens his grip on my waist, and his look slips into one of peevish pleasure. "Awww! That's almost, sorta, sweet. But – young man – what about your bullshit?"

I loosen his grip with a sturdy frown; he has me worried. "What bullshit?" What exactly does he know?

"Your bad features; your bad habits."

Relieved, I chuckle: "Ok, Mr. Perfect, list 'em and I'll try to work on them."

Suddenly he looks – I don’t know – sad, like a lost little boy. He tells me, "Well, to be fair, I guess one month is pretty short, but to date, you haven’t done a thing that I don’t like."

I swallow hard. My turn to say, "Aw…" and add, "…come here." I bend over, take his face – one cheek in each palm – and lay a big one on him.

"Lincoln Oliver, you sexy beast."

He rises with his arms lifting around my torso like a comforting pressure. He says, "One month, and counting."

He draws his mouth to mine and we continue kissing, only now, we really kiss.

'Yes,' I silently think to myself. 'Thank you.'

Damien must have come in while we had our eyes closed, for suddenly we hear his sneering tone. "Jeeezzzzeee! What the Fuck!"

Me and Linc separate.

"Nothing more pitiful than a whore spooning a whore…"

"Shut up, Damien. What business is it of yours!" Lincoln is forceful.

Damien is at his dresser, where he's pulling out some fresh socks and drawers. He speaks as if to them, "I just hope Daddy doesn't find out…"

I speak up. "We give Daddy what he wants, what else matters?!"

Damien drops his clothes and strides up to me like a rooster before a fight. "Listen," he says. "You are low man on the totem. That you are giving your ass away for free – to another ho – is business, and he'd want to know."

"That's enough, Damien." Linc says, sounding pissed.

Damien taps my chest, hard. I wince in pain as he sputters in my face: "Know your place around here, boy, or someone will have to show it to you!" His hand comes up and slaps my cheek – not hard – but enough to sting and make a sharp noise in far corners of the room.

All of a sudden Lincoln's hands are on both my shoulders from behind. He guides me to the door, saying, "Let's bounce."

As I get to the frame, Linc lets go and comes up behind Damien, who is back at his dresser. He leans close to Damien's ear, and says low and in a mean growl: "Leave him alone, Damien, or – you don’t want to know the 'or' part of it."

˚˚˚˚˚

Lincoln is driving west along the Boulevard. "Where are we goin' to?"

"Just drive," I tell him. "You'll see."

I get a text from Dawn:

What is up?

I type back:

In car w/Linc. Taking him 2 my 'special' place

I send that, then add:

Hes really nice – U'd like him. BTW, been thinking bout 'Catcher' a lot lately. 143 TYL

"What are you doing?" Linc sounds halfway between teasing and annoyed. "No, don’t tell me. You're texting that mysterious bestie of yours, that Dawn person."

"Phew! – " I tell him kinda snotty. "Sexy – you're eyes are violet, don’t make 'em green with envy, and ruin my view. Ok?"

"Shit head," he scoffs.

"You are not jealous of Dawn, are you..?" My hand drifts to that irresistible crease in his jeans, the spot just where his upper legs turns and begins to form torso.

Despite his 'pissed off' persona, Linc cracks a smile. "I don’t need to be. Know why?"

"Nope."

"Cuz I've got you here with me, kid, and she don’t."

I caress his crease a little by forcing my finger down to the inner fold. "Very true, and I know, you'd love her too."

"Well, in that case, tell her 'Hey' for me."

"K."

I pull my hand back, and type:

Linc says hey. Dawn, I fell hard 4 him. Hes so wonderful, U'd luv him 2.

˚˚˚˚˚

We're in luck. There is a parking spot right in front of the store where the sexy South Asian works with his mom.

We cross the street by running towards the beach. Once we get down the steps, I act all spy and shit, and duck down low. I find the opening and motion for Lincoln to follow.

Under the Santa Monica pier, I plop down on the sand and can't control how happy I feel.

Lincoln, on the other hand, just sends out this vibe of being suspicious and caught off-guard. He stands there in front of me with hands on his hips and asks, "This is where you wanted to go..? A cold spot, under a pier?"

I blink up to him, and tell him all heartfelt and shit, "But, this is someplace special. I brought you to the place where I spent my first night in L.A."

"Ok. But, have you been up to the pier?" he asks.

"Nope."

"Well," he extends his hand. "Let's go." He yanks me to my feet, and makes a looking circuit over his head. "It's kinda creepy down here – too many shadows and shit."

˚˚˚˚˚

The sound of the carousel leads me in. The thing is large! The whole building is old, and the roof sweeps up like the inside of a multifaceted tent that makes a round enclosure from many straight sides. The ceiling is wood and whitewashed, and there are a series of tall and slender windows at the top to let in light.

"Wo," I tell Lincoln. "It's beautiful!"

"Yeah, it's like been here a hundred years, or something."

I had never crossed under the big curving sign that leads to the pier before Lincoln took me on a quick tour just a few minutes ago. I had no idea that there was a Ferris wheel all the way at the end, and that it overlooked the waves. Linc said we would come back to ride it later, but he wanted me to see the carousel first.

So here we are, and the place is not too crowded – there's just a few kids with their moms. There is an old guy dressed in a dingy white shirt, and truly baggy slacks that are dark blue. He walks around like he owns the place; his eagle eyes lingering on all the kids, for 'safety concerns,' no doubt, LOL.

Linc and me walk around the carousel. The music is sweet and sad at the same time, like it's for a festive funeral or something. And all the time, the motion of the rounded and curved platform rises and falls with sparkling lights, and with shimmering glints of brass and gold.

Graceful animals – horses, dolphins, lions, even a dinosaur – bend necks to look backwards at phantom riders' lower legs. The manes are swirls of painted, but molten-looking, carved wood in tawny, brown and amber hues. How beautiful. I feel almost dizzy walking around its enforced path of rotation. I know it could not fly away, and yet somehow, I'm not so convinced that I couldn't.

In the back corner, Lincoln takes my hand and we sit with our backs against the wall.

I scooch as close to him as I can, and the warmth of his jock thigh feels good against my own. I slip my right arm under his left one, and retake his hand. We just mellow for a while, watch the kids, and see their smiling moms lean on the railings.

"Lemme ask you a Q, Mr. Lincoln Oliver."

"Shoot."

"Why you always calling me 'kid'?"

"What, don’t you like it when I do?"

I shrug. "That was not the question, Mr. Evasion Tactics." I snuggle in a bit deeper to make sure he knows I'm only joking.

He laughs. "I thought you had a better memory than that, Sean."

"What am I supposed to remember?"

"Why I call you kid. It started on that day me and you got first paired up. Remember, Daddy kept calling you 'kid' in his office, and I ribbed you about it. But now…well, now…I say it for different reasons."

"Which are…" I draw him out.

"Because, now it's a little – what'd they call it? – term of endearment. Cuz, you are my boy, and, and…"

"Ok, Linc. I get it. And to answer your earlier Q, I love it when you call me 'kid.' Just fuking love it."

He squeezes me tight and lays a sensual kiss on my neck. That brief moment of fleshy contact raises a slight need in me to know for sure how he feels. "You sure you're into me?" I ask him softly. "I'm not a very interesting guy. I'm not very observant, or don’t have ambitions, or even very deep thoughts; I'm pretty basic, as guys go."

Linc bites his lower lip. IDK, somehow it looks like I hurt him. I go on, "I mean, I'm not doubting. I'm just, making sure?"

"You are not ordinary, Sean. You, kid, are anything but."

"Awww. So…what you're saying is, I should just shut up?"

"Yeah, why don’t you just shut your pretty little mouth." Then he adds real slow, "Or do you want me to shut it for you?"

The circus music inserts itself between our intense silence. Then, I lick my lips, and whisper, "And, how do you propose to do that?"

"This way." He leans in. He pushes his mouth to mine, gently at first, but as he breaths in the air I have just let out, he locks on. It is one hell of a good kiss. Blush! 😛

We settle back, and just in time too, cuz the old guy in the baggy clothes casts an unsympathetic look our way. But, what can he say? We're just sitting here, quiet as mice, LOL.

Linc stiffens his spine for a moment and cranes his neck looking for something. "There's a brass ring somewhere, huh? But, I don’t see it."

"Yeah," I offer. "I guess there's always a brass ring."

The ride stops, and so does the calliope music. Kids unload and call for their moms. New passengers run like mad cows, bumping into each other, and screaming to get the carved animal they've had their eye on. Now the baggy-pants gentleman is busy. He warns the little ones to 'walk,' and to 'hold on tight.' While they are boarding, I glance up past the lights, past the white and mirrored crest panels of the merry-go-round, and gaze at the ceiling.

There is something oddly, back-burner familiar about it, although I cannot put my finger on what exactly it is, cuz I have never been in here before today. The ceiling really is like a tent – round and flaring up like the circle of fabric would – only the top is a crown of tall windows, with white sashes and frames.

The ride starts again. The sadly sweet music comes to life. I massage Linc's cuticles with my fingertips, and ask him, "You ever read Catcher in the Rye?"

"Yeah. Back in 9^th grade."

"Did you like it?"

"Oh, sure. It's good."

"There's one scene that's always bothered me."

"Which one?"

"The main guy, Holden, he's like not wanting to go home because he's been expelled, and he's having trouble sleeping."

"I remember that."

"So, finally he goes to the home of one of his old teachers, who's now teaching college in New York. This guy is cool, and not so into his own bullshit like the other grown-ups, maybe that's because he's still young. Holden crashes on his couch, and he is finally able to get some decent sleep. I think it's cuz he's able to feel a connection with someone at last. The whole book, up to that point, Holden Caulfield acts like he doesn't give a shit, but all that denial is probably eating him up inside."

He kisses the back of my hand. "Why does that part bother you?"

"It doesn't. Well, not that part – that's all good – but, then later on, Holden wakes up and his teacher is there, you know, soothing his hair, like he's a baby. I guess the guy is worried about the kid, thinks he has a lot of pressure on him and stuff. But Holden's reaction is way over the top. He practically calls the guy a faggot, and stomps out in the middle of the night. I hate that part!"

"Hate?"

"I mean, it's fuking bullshit. The world is fake, and Holden is part of that. His teacher was just concerned about him, that's all. Even if his teach is Gay, the guy didn't grab the boy's dick – all he did was try and comfort him in his sleep – probably Holden was stuck in a bad dream or something. His fuking homophobic reaction is bullshit. What is it with straight guys being afraid of Nothing! As if love, caring, concern, is something to be afraid of! They twist it around into their own self-hate. I hate it; it's fuking stupid."

Lincoln draws up one leg. I must have been squeezing his hand pretty hard, because he takes my palm and lays it flat on top of his knee. "Yup, it is, but how 'bout you don’t get so worked up, hum? We aren’t gonna change society by ruining our blood pressure, are we?"

I concede, "Maybe not."

"The truth is, they are not going to change for us, no matter how loving and reasonable we are – cuz, let's face it – that's the way we've always been, and they have always hated and feared us for it."

"It just makes me angry – "

"Blood…pressure…"

"Oh." I smile at him despite how pissed off I feel. "Fuk society, fuk fear of other's judgments from ignorance and hate, and – fuk you."

"Fuck meee?" His eyebrows pull up a playful question mark.

"You heard me."

He raises his right arm, reaches over and puts it around me. He comes in so close that his lips are almost against mine.

"For you, sir," he teases with his sparkling fresh breath. "That can be arranged." His lips touch mine, pull back, then come again. Moisture rises between us and our closed eyes. The circus music seems to wreath our heads.

"Come here," he says gently patting his inner thigh.

I scoot over and nestle my back against his chest. I slide down a bit to get comfortable. His arms slip under my mine and our hands link up, one set over the other.

He says softly: "I'm done with Damien, with Daddy – with all of 'em."

"I know, but Daddy seems all right."

"He is, don’t get me wrong. Most people probably think that guys like us have 'pimps,' like the girls do. I guess none of them realize how guys won't put up with getting robbed and abused – truth is, houses like Daddy's are RARE!"

"Yeah, I had a feeling. Most boys are out on their own."

"True, or they set up shop as couples. That you see all the time; two hustlers living and sharing expenses and pooling income and whatnot. It's natural, I guess."

"With their boyfriends?"

"Yeah, almost all of them are connected like that. It makes it worthwhile to go into it together, for support and shit."

"So, what are you gonna do, if you're done with Daddy and them?"

"You and I can go out on our own."

"How?"

"Me and Damien talked about it for a while, but…then…well, things changed. You ever hear of Backpage? "

"Nope."

"It's a site where guys who are working on their own post ads – you know – high class stuff with face shots, descriptions, and that the boy is 'courteous,' 'well-spoken,' 'discreet' – you name it! We can feature our services as 'outcall only,' till we…" Lincoln pauses, like he's overstepped his own thoughts.

I ask calmly, gently pulling on his fingers, "Till, we – what?"

"Until we get a place of our own, together."

This makes me stop a moment. I know I transmit unease to Linc, but I can't help it. What's it like to tell the man you love that you are dying? It seems unfair to burden him now, really unfair. I should not let him fall for me…but, the truth is, I couldn't stop me from falling either.

"What is it, Sean?"

Calliope music sears my thoughts. "Look, Lincoln, I want to ask you, and I don’t care, I just want to believe you'll tell me straight up, so I know – ok?"

"Ok. What?" He sounds slightly annoyed.

"Tell me the absolute truth."

"Whatever dude – not until I know the question."

"Linc, when before you were talking about society never cutting 'us' a break – did you mean 'us' as Gay people? Are you Gay, or straight, or what?"

His tone goes flat. "Man, don’t you know that's like the last thing you ever ask a hustler. It's dangerous. You Gay?"

"Yes, I am. You know that."

"And why do you want to know that of me?"

"Cuz...." I lift his hand, hoping he'd resume massaging my fingers. "I think of you as my boyfriend, and I wanna know if you think of me in the same way. I just want to hear it from you. Ok?"

He moves his hands to around my waist. He slowly sits up and draws my sore spine to some rigidity. His mouth runs smoothly over the nape of my neck. When he gets to my ear, he says, "You want to know if I love you, don’t you?"

I swallow hard. "Yes."

He loosens his hold and uses an index finger to turn me by the chin to look at him. His beautiful and unearthly violet eyes are moist, but gathered and centered too.

He kisses me quickly, like a smack for a little kid. "Don’t worry, baby. I'm 100% Gay, and 100% in love with you – ok? That's my whole truth right now, that and having your love in return." He laughs: "Happy?"

I think I am about to cry.

Linc says desperately, "I love you, ok? Get it?"

"Are you sure?"

"Fuck you, kid. I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U! Okay!"

Through his smile, I have one more tease for my studly boyfriend. "Ok, Lincoln Oliver, but remember, no matter what happens, I love you more. No matter what bullshit we may go through…I do love you more, ok?"

"Well, we'll see about that."

He kisses me. I close my eyes and let sightless sound and the warm sensation of his movements make me dizzy. The eerie gaiety of fake-ass funeral music seeps into places I did not know I could feel – the sweating wrist, the tingling lower back halfway through my body from tailbone to bellybutton – and that dizziness blurs into something more threatening. A loss, perhaps, of consciousness, or of simply giving a fuk about anything or anyone ever again; I don’t know, but I feel lightheaded in his arms. Spun and turned around in a good way, hell, dizzy in a great way, for as the blood drifts away from my head, I guess this means that just like some old Hollywood starlet, his kiss makes me swoon. Fuk.

He pauses and we open eyes, His moist little grin asks, "Happy now?"

"So fuking happy."

We just settle back and lay in each other's arms, and continue to play with our linked fingers. Yes, I am happy, and I don’t want to break his heart, but soon I will have to do just that. Break it to save him of having it broken for him by that bitch called Fate. Yes, I will have to run away again, and do it soon.

"Look," Lincoln points with our joined right hand to the old man. "He's keeping his eye on us."

"I guess we kissed a little too long for his liking."

"It's probably just jealousy."

"I know, I bet he thinks you're cute too," I tell Linc.

"No, I meant, he's jealous of the boy in my arms. Come on, let’s show him what real love looks like."

Lincoln gently pushes on my back, and stands up behind me. He pulls me up and together, hand-in-hand, we run to the line.

We get to a sturdy-looking horse, a white one. Linc climbs on, and I eye the one in front of his, but he immediately calls to me. "No, no. Come on, boy. Sit here."

He lifts himself with tense legs and sits with half his ass on top of the saddle, then he pats the area in front, between his crotch and the twisted brass pole. "Sean, sit here."

I glance around for 'the guy,' and don’t see him, so I climb on board.

My hand latches onto the brass pole that is like an old-fashioned striped candy cane. I hoist my leg over, and my beautiful Lincoln's hands wrap around my waist.

The carousel starts up, and like a sea wave rising, cresting, and falling again, Linc and I ride our steed and start giggling from sheer joy. When the pony dips forward, most of Linc's full body weight presses on me, and feels wonderful. When the horse tips backs, his hands pull tightly around my midsection.

The music is all around us. The carved animals never seemed so alive, so free!

On the next down-tilt, Lincoln's voice speaks softly into my neck. "Get the brass ring."

I look where he points, and raise up my arm.

Too late; we sail past and I can't reach it.

Now the un-cool baggy-pants guy sees us. Ut-oh.

He starts tracking us outside the ride.

"Try again!" Lincoln doesn't care about him.

I stretch out as far as I can.

The old man starts shouting: "You boys are too big for that!"

My fingers slip into the ring, and it comes away with me.

"I love you, baby," Linc says and kisses the nape of my neck. Both words and deed raises goose flesh on my whole being.

I laugh. "What do I do with it!" I hold up the two-and-a-half-inch ring for Linc to admire.

"Keep it. You deserve it."