Reconciled - 8. Chapter 8

"Go on then," Salem provoked, his eyes glistening. "Beat the shit out of me. If it makes you feel better. That's what you want, isn't it? Go on do It. Do It!" He raised his voice.

Arran raised his right arm and made a fist. His arm swung through the air in an arc towards the kid's face. At the last moment he opened his hand and slammed his palm against the wall inches from Salem's head. A loud thud vibrated against the wall.

"You trying to scare me? It won't work, I'm scared all the time." Salem glared at him.

"I guess I'm a jealous guy," Arran said. "I can't believe I did that."

He moved away, turned around, and walked over to the bed where he slouched down.

Salem watched him, his heartbeat returning to normal, his adrenalin receding,

Tom couldn't stand it any longer. What were they doing? He had to know. He heard noises, then nothing for the past five minutes. As he was about to leave, thinking he had messed up everything between them, Arran called down to him from the top of the stairs. Tom was standing in the hall, his jacket in one hand, scarf in the other.

"What are you doing?" Arran shouted.

"I'm going home."

Arran bounded down the stairs.

"I screwed up. I'm sorry." Tom told him.

"You didn't screw up!" Arran blocked the front door, looking at Tom. "Put your stuff back and come here."

Tom was split between wanting to get out and leave all this behind him, and his feelings for Arran. He didn't move, couldn't work out what to do. Maybe, he thought, he should just run away. Who gets to decide what's right and what's wrong? Arran had moved next to him and he reached out taking hold of Tom's jacket, then the scarf. Tom let him. He replaced them on the hook next to Salem's jacket. Arran turned to Tom and wrapped his arms around him pulling him into a tight hug.

Salem was watching from the stairs, he came down slowly into the hall, neither Arran nor Tom noticed him. He grabbed his coat. It was then Arran spoke.

"Sorry," he said.

Salem looked at him but didn't say anything.

"What did you do to him?" Tom pulled away from Arran.

Salem hesitated, standing in the hall, he wanted to hear the reply.

"Nothing!" Arran affirmed, but Tom didn't believe him.

"I heard a lot of noise up there." Tom looked back at the stairs, then moved to Salem's side. "He's a good friend," Tom declared, putting an arm around Salem. Something he'd wanted to do before in the street. "I persuaded him to come here and talk to you."

"Guess it's me who screwed up. Guess I'm just a jealous guy. Sorry."

It was the second time Arran had apologised in the last few minutes.

"Nothing happened between us," Tom told him. "But no way can I be with you if you turn out to be a bully. I've been there. Salem as well. Sorry doesn't really cut it Arran."

"I didn't touch him." Arran tried to be conciliatory.

"What happened?" Tom looked from Arran to Salem.

"No, nothing happened," Salem told him.

"Then why are you leaving?" Tom wanted some answers.

"Because your boyfriend doesn't want to be a porn star and I've got no place here. None of this was my idea anyway, remember?"

Everything had gone wrong Tom thought and it was Arran's fault. He'd done a lot to help his boyfriend. The word kind of stuck. Was Arran his boyfriend? Only Salem had made that statement, not Arran.

Salem decided not to hang around. He left the two of them, closing the front door behind him.

After what felt like a long minute Arran spoke: "Are we all okay?" he asked, and Tom couldn't help laughing. The tension was released.

Arran reached out and gently touched Tom. "You know, not long ago I thought I was in a good relationship with my girlfriend. Good, meaning I liked her. I still do. Then you came along. Everything spiralled. I found out my dad had been seeing Vicky, the best friend of Ali, my girlfriend. My dad split with her and she accused him of raping her. You came to the rescue, but the rescue was a double edged sword. Then Salem..."

"You're jealous!"

"Of course, I'm jealous. Wouldn't you be?"

Tom didn't reply to that question, instead he wanted to know what had happened upstairs. "What did you say to him?"

"Just what you said. I'm a jealous guy."

"And the loud noise?"

Arran was cornered, he didn't know what to say.

"Come on. Tell me what you did?"

"I kind of threatened him, that's all."

"That's all! Fuck you!" Tom made to leave.

"I said sorry. I didn't do anything."

"Didn't do anything?" Tom walked away, opened the door and stepped out into the cold.

Arran watched him leave. He'd screwed up big time! He really had no idea about Salem and Tom, but the boy was definitely eye candy and Tom must be attracted to him. He was certainly into Tom, that was obvious. He didn't want to admit it, but the kid was very sexy and pressed all the right buttons. It wasn't difficult to imagine them together, but why did that haunt him?

Tom felt angry. He felt a wave of emotional tension. Arran had fucked things up. Salem had a way to help Arran's dad, but all he could see was the boy making a move on him. Now, how things might work out, Tom couldn't even consider, couldn't think about it for the moment. He didnt know if he wanted anything more to do Arran. What he needed to do was talk to Salem.

Salem had found someone he had been only dreaming about. In his head he played out fantasies with Tom and him together. But Tom's boyfriend was in the way and he also needed to be very careful Achim or nobody else ever found out.

That night Tom chatted with Salem online for a long time. They decided to meet, but nowhere local and not at Arran's place. Tom gave him an address halfway across town, a cafe where he used to hang out before moving.

"I know how you feel about me," he told Salem, as they sat opposite each other sipping hot chocolate. "But like I said, there is Arran."

"He's a jerk, a bully just like Achim. You don't need him."

"Its my fault what happened. I'm sorry about that, but that's not really him. He's not like that. I think he's too worried about what might happen. He's scared like you, like me. We've all got our fears and we react unpredictably sometimes."

"You reckon? That's a long excuse for the guy being jealous."

"Okay," Tom sighed. "I'll fix things with him. If... "

"I'll give you the contact, but that's it. For you. I'm not getting involved.

Tom smiled, he was relieved. "Thanks Salem."

"This guy Malcolm James will pay off Vicky." Tom was laying out the whole plan. "She takes the money, drops the charges."

"And this guy wants what exactly in exchange?" Arran asked.

"He's a video producer. The kind of videos that are triple X rated."

"So?"

"So you get what he wants."

"Well, no, not exactly."

"Photos, film, I don't know exactly. Is that a big deal? If no one ever finds out."

"I don't know which of your schemes is worse, outing me to my dad or turning me into a porn star." Arran looked at Tom.

"You asked for help. And, by the way, you treated Salem very badly. It was down to him, this contact and paying off Vicky."

"I've said I'm sorry about that." Arran brushed his hands through his hair and threw his head back. "Give me a break, huh!"

"Okay."

"How did Salem get into all this anyway? And this, what's his name, James guy?" Arran started pacing around the room.

"He told him he could make money. They chatted online."

"In your gay chat room?" Arran stared back at Tom.

"It happens. You can't always be sure who you're chatting to. He didnt know the guy makes porn."

"But he's not even the same age."

"Yeah, well..."

"And he's already met this guy?" Arran asked.

Tom shifted in his seat and sighed. "No, I don't think they've actually met. Not like face to face, in person."

"And what was Salem gonna do before I came along. Before you told him about my little problem?"

"I don't know. I don't know everything, you know."

Arran's pacing up and down was beginning to irritate Tom.

"That I can believe."

"Good, because now it's up to you. What do you wanna do?"

"I guess we can go and see this James guy. Maybe work something out." Arran glanced at Tom, who nodded.

Salem made the call and fixed things up. Sunday evening Tom and Arran took the bus, two buses actually as they had to change. The address was in West London, not exactly Knightsbridge, but a bit further on towards Notting hill. The mansion block was a Victorian red brick building of rather large luxury apartments spread over five floors. There were two entrances imaginatively named Arlington Mansions A and Arlington Mansions B.

Tom looked up. "It's here," he announced reading the golden A.

Arran pressed the number on the intercom, forty-four. He didn't think there were forty plus apartments, so the number must indicate the floor. They were buzzed in. Walking through the double doors they found themselves in a dimly lit hall. The tiled floor was a mosaic of dull red, green and yellow, old fashioned cement tiles. An ornate, but impractical door mat, an oval centrepiece like some marble headstone, proclaimed Arlington Mansions in curving gold letters cut into a beige veined stone set in the floor in front of the lift. A large letter A beside the lift gate informed them that they had indeed entered the right mansion block.

Tom pulled open the folding metal cage door to the lift which was there waiting for them. Arran stepped inside and Tom slid the door shut and hit the round white button labelled four. The cage jerked upwards rather disconcertingly. Looking around they could see through the metal cage as the lift passed each floor.

Walking along the hallway on the top floor they saw identical plain glossy dark green doors on each side numbered one, two, and three. Number four stood facing them at the end of the corridor. Arran reached up and pressed the buzzer. It made a weird electrical noise like a plug with a bad contact.

The door opened and they were greeted by a tall young man with a huge smile which displayed brilliant white teeth. Ignoring the obvious size difference, the guy reminded Arran a lot of Salem. His perfect teeth almost glowed like a beacon in the dim light, contrasting exquisitely with his dark black skin, much darker than Salem. If Salem was your typical Mediterranean type, this guy was from deepest Africa. He was dressed in tight-fitting shorts that clung to his legs and stopped just above the knees. His torso was covered by an equally tight pink vest which moulded its form around the muscles beneath. As he stepped back to allow them to enter, both Arran and Tom looked down at his shorts, which even in the low light left no doubt at all as to how well endowed this young man was.

He watched their eyes and if it were possible his smile grew even bigger. "I'm Amos," he said, in a less than masculine voice, but not totally effeminate, simply delicate. "Mr James is expecting you," he announced, like some gay butler from a sitcom. As he led them along the inner hallway all eyes were fixed on those tight shorts and the small round orbs of his derrière.

Opening a door on their right they emerged into a large room with an ornate marble fireplace, a huge four poster bed, and large bay windows concealed behind thick red velvet drapes. A tripod with a large spotlight was pointing into the room from one corner. Two rather small cameras were fixed on other tripods each side of the bed a little distance away. A hand held camera was lying on the bedside table.

Taking in the scene they didn't notice Malcolm James until he cleared his throat.

"Welcome, boys, to my little world." Malcolm grinned.

They turned to face him.

"We all know what we're doing here! Don't we?" he asked.

The boys nodded. But Arran wasn't at all sure he knew why he was here. For several reasons his thoughts all ended with Salem. It was Salem's idea, Salem's contact, Salem's good deed for his buddy Tom.

"Good. Then tell me about this Vicky who's causing you problems."

Arran piped up, explaining they needed her to withdraw charges against John Taylor. He did not tell him John was his father. They had already agreed on false names and minimum details. Arran was Andy, Tom was Tracy.

Malcolm listened, interrupted only infrequently, and nodded and hummed and hawed.

"How much does she want?" he asked.

Arran said he would need to negotiate that and they had not to be seen as being involved.

Malcolm nodded again. "A video with the two of you. First one. It's not worth more than five hundred quid. I doubt that will be enough to buy her off."

The boys looked at each other.

"If it goes well. Lots of views, likes. We can do another. Five hundred each one. Maybe I can bring someone else in. There are lots of genres." Malcolm looked at them. "You know what genres are?"

"Different types," Tom replied.

"Precisely. I'll let you do whatever you like for the first one. We call it natural," he said with a smirk. "Just remember, don't look at the camera. Unless it's a point of view shot."

"Point of view?" Arran asked.

"You've done this before?"

"Sure," Tom answered. "Only not him. But it's no problem."

Malcolm looked at him. "If it's crap, you don't get paid."

Tom looked at Arran, who just stood there frowning.

"Amos here will oversee. You've got the rest of the afternoon."

Malcolm left them alone with Amos, who was still smiling.