In Safe Hands - 3. Chapter 3

In Safe Hands
by Riley Jericho

Chapter Three

Elliot’s attention was taken by the large, framed picture, which took pride of place in the family living room Pausing in front of it, he stared, astonished, more mesmerized than he had been with ‘PARIS’. He could have stared at it for hours.

Days.

To him, it was astounding. Incredible!

The boy in the picture was standing by a small wooden fisherman’s boat. Sturdy and well used, it had been pulled up onto the sand; stranded by a receding tide. The beach was a golden brown, but the flaking white of the aging boat’s paint contrasted with the subject’s dark, tanned skin. Black hair, alive in a small breeze and black speedo trunks, the boy rested against the gunwale, looking out over the ocean, eyes glinting in the setting sun.

Unmistakably, the boy was Miguel Ortiz.

The colours were rich and deep, and the painting had been completed in oil, but with fewer uneven textures that he’d seen with some older oil paintings; those that only looked good from a distance. He didn’t really know anything about paintings, other than whether they looked good to him or not. This he liked. A LOT!

“What do you think?” Miguel sounded hesitant.

“It’s beautiful,” Elliott breathed at last. “Really beautiful…incredibly intense.”

That he was using such provocative words about another boy – even just the likeness of one - didn’t seem to matter at that point, as Elliott found himself intoxicated by the picture. The detail was enormous, but it didn’t take away from the simplicity of the image or the strokes of the brush, which seemed almost careless. It felt SO REAL and, looking at the detail of Miguel’s body, he recognised the curves and turns, the sweep of his lean stomach and the muscles in his thighs. Just that morning, he’d watched the water fall out of that black hair and seen those shoulders swim like a dolphin through the deeps.

The composition was such that he almost fell into the painting - or maybe Miguel fell out of it? Either way, it was so lifelike that, without even realising what he was doing, he reached out with the ends of his fingers and touched the body of the boy in the picture. Running his fingers down the torso he could almost taste the rich flavours of the oils used to paint. He would hardly have been surprised if the figure had shuddered, maybe even giggled, at his caress. His gestures were quite provocative, but Miguel said nothing – just watched him with interest.

“How old actually are you, Miguel?” Elliott murmured, still tracing the figure on the canvas.

“Thirteen, nearly fourteen… Why?”

Elliott withdrew his hand, conscious at last of what he was doing. He continued to gaze at the picture. “That’s what I thought. We’re the same age. It’s just you look a bit older in the picture…” Maybe mid-teens, he thought to himself, though it was deceptively hard to tell. There was more muscle – and the trunks covered something more pronounced than on a normal thirteen year-old!

Miguel grinned slyly again. “You noticed then? It’s true – I asked Papa to make me a bit older. I told him I needed a longer shelf life!” He laughed at his own quirky humour.

Elliott looked at the bottom right corner, and there was the name, scrawled in thin white letters. Immanuel Ortiz. He touched the letters lightly.

“Your dad?” He took a sharp breath, and held it n surprise. “Your dad painted this?”

“Yep – Papa did it, and I’m sure he’ll be delighted he has a new admirer! That’s what he does. He’s an artist.”

“He’s good; really good.” Elliott started to breathe again, coming out of his trance. “My dad’s been trying to learn to paint for several years, but nothing like this. I’ll have to show him – maybe he can get some tips from yours?"

"Maybe."

A few moments later, Elliott followed Miguel out into the afternoon sun and onto the balcony. Leaning against the Perspex barrier, he sipped the hot, sweet tea. Looking down, he could spy the pool where they had met that morning. Was it only that morning? Being higher up, he could also see more of the surrounding area.

“It must be amazing to live here, like you do,” he said wistfully. A damn sight nicer than Hounslow!

“Actually, we live just outside of Granada, but Mama and Papa keep this as a holiday home. We come down as often as we can. Weekends, holidays - that kind of thing,” replied Miguel. Momentarily he went inside the apartment and returned with a pair of binoculars. “You can see a lot more from up here,” he said, peering through the lenses and looking across the town. “Come and look.”

Elliott set down his mug and took the binoculars.

Slowly he panned across the vista. From this third floor of an apartment block that perched on the hillside at the outskirts of the seaside town, the view was imposing. To the right he could see up the coast, where the mountain ranges began to spring up, heading inland in massive sweeps. Ahead, glimpses of the beach, busy again with throngs of people. Across into the town he even saw the remains of the afternoon market; the traders closing up in preparation to relocate to an evening market, in another town.

“Wow – these are great! You can see for miles!”

“You can actually see the restaurant from here, too," enthused Miguel. "Where we ate this morning.”

“Where?” Elliott shifted position, trying to find his bearings.

Miguel stood close in behind him, took the binoculars and lined them up before sliding them in front of Elliott’s eyes. “Just there,” he murmured softly. “Just to the left of the steeple.”

As Elliott took back the lenses from him, Miguel leaned against him, forearms resting comfortably on his shoulders, tracking with what he was viewing. He focused and the restaurant sprang up into view. He could even make out the table at which they’d eaten, though it was empty now.

At the same time, he was powerfully aware of the body resting slightly against him; the real life version of the boy in the picture. Breathing softly on his neck, Miguel’s smell entered him and his warm skin, covered only by a pair of simple black briefs, made contact. His friend moved ever so slightly against his own bare skin, before disengaging and going indoors.

“I’m going to put my speedos on,” Miguel called. “When you’ve finished your tea, let’s go swimming.”

It wouldn’t be the last by any means, but it was the first time in his life that it had ever happened to him like this. It caught Elliott Carter quite by surprise. There had been pleasure in the warm sunshine and the day’s activities. There had been pleasure in the painting and, just then, there was real pleasure at feeling Miguel so close; so alive.

The pleasure had mounted in him and he’d responded to its insistence quite naturally. It had begun, he realised, while he’d been examining the painting, gathering apace over the last few minutes, such that the firm erection had lifted fully and was now pressing through his shorts and onto the Perspex glass.

It was hard to say how he felt.

He wasn’t particularly shocked. He’d had plenty of boners before and knew they could turn up at unexpected times. It would go away if he just ignored it and, with the loose shorts he was wearing, didn’t really show anyway.

His eyes turned down to the pool. The water did look good. He finished his tea and went indoors, meeting Miguel coming out of his bedroom. In his speedos now, Elliott couldn’t help but wonder and briefly glanced at the front, but there was nothing there to show that Miguel got woodys too.

“OK – let’s go,” said Miguel.

Once again, Elliott Carter followed Miguel Ortiz – this time out of the Ortiz apartment, down the stairs and into their own, one floor below.

“I just need to go and get my swimmers,” said Elliott, and Miguel followed him in. There was activity in the apartment and Elliott could hear both Sam and Natty. It meant his Mom was back.

“Hi Mom!” He found both her, and his dad, in the kitchen, unloading copious foodstuffs from plastic bags. “We’re just going down to the pool.”

“Hello sweetheart – nice sleep?” She noticed the visitor trailing behind. “Hello Miguel.”

“Hi!” Miguel grinned.

“Can you boys take Sam and Natty down with you too, then, please? I’ve got my hands full sorting this lot out, and I promised them they could go swimming when we got back.”

Elliott sighed, but didn’t mind too much. “Sure – where’s Natty's stuff? Is she ready to go?” Sam could sort himself out!

“I’m ready! Where have you been?” The high-pitched voice behind him was demanding, and he and Miguel turned, and grinned to see little Natty with her hands on her hips, eyes looking fiery!

“I just need to get changed Natty. Two minutes!”

As they passed the living room, Sam was there, playing on his Gameboy. He got up quickly. “Hi Miguel – you wanna come swimming with me?”

“Sure Sam, we're just going down now.” Miguel continued to follow Elliott as they kept walking down the corridor to his and Sam’s room. Elliott first popped into the bathroom to retrieve his slightly damp swim shorts, and then went into his room.

Hot on his heels, Sam pushed by Miguel, “I gotta get changed too!” he declared, leaving Miguel leaning easily against the doorframe.

Throwing off his tee shirt, Sam dropped his shorts and underpants and then stood, impudently buck-naked, looking around for his swimming trunks. His quite unusual, stumpy little willy, stuck out immodestly; firmly horizontal, like it always was. Whether it was his age or his natural competitiveness, he was shameless about his dick and had a propensity for parading it proudly.

“MOM – WHERE”S MY TRUNKS?”

“On the line in the bathroom sweetheart, where you forgot to hang them," a patient voice called back.

Miguel stepped to one side as Sam swept by, heading for the bathroom.

“He’s not shy, then?” Miguel noted wryly.

“No...” Unlike his brother, Elliott turned the other way to lower his own shorts and boxers, before drawing on his swim shorts.

Sam returned, still naked, but now holding his swim shorts in his hand. But he’d been rumbled.

“Sam – put something on will you!"

"What??" A study in whiney innocence.

NOW!” Rose's voice returned from the kitchen, and was rather more definitive in tone.

Sam shrugged and rolled his eyes for the benefit of Miguel, but finally covered up and the four of them headed to the lifts.

* * *

It was the first day of a brilliant two weeks.

For Elliott, it was clear, quite early on, that two weeks was never going to be enough! It was true for his parents too, especially once his dad found out that Immanuel Ortiz was an artist. By mutual choice, the two families joined forces and pretty much went everywhere, and did everything together as a group - which was fine by him and Miguel.

It was fine by Natty too, as she took a shine to Isabella Ortiz, and followed her like a puppy. Rose was a bit embarrassed the first couple of days, but Isabella just winked and shooed her away, when she tried to extract Natty. The two of them were as thick as thieves. Natty let Señora Ortiz spend hours brushing out and platting her hair, by the pool. At the beach, they would make endless sandcastles and play together in the shallows. In the end, Rose was quite grateful and was freed up to relax and have a real holiday for once.

Even though she and Benedict spoke good Spanish, there’s nothing like local knowledge, and Manny and Isabella Ortiz knew all the best places to eat out, and to visit when it was too hot to lie out in the sun.

Everyone was happy!

While there were plenty of places in the guide books to visit, the kids really preferred the sand and sea, so they had a good routine that suited everyone. They would try to get to the beach by nine in the morning or so, to beat the crowds, and while it was still cool enough to enjoy. They would load the cars with umbrellas, drinks, chairs for the oldies, body boards, toys for Natty, towels and the like; parking wherever they could get in.

For those first few days, they had their own spot on the beach in the shade of some rocks. Well, it didn’t belong to them specifically, but it felt like it. It was just a piece of beach, but it was theirs. They would set up with their sun umbrellas, the parents would put out towels and their chairs to mark the space, and they'd be set for the morning.

In the middle of the first week, they took a break from the beach and visited some local subterranean caves, which - much to Elliott's annoyance - his Mom decided were educational and perfect as a homework project he would complete!

The next day they returned to the beach, but were late out of the door, because Natty was on a 'go slow' over breakfast. Even Elliott was irritated!

"Mom, can't she eat any faster?"

In response, Natty glared at him, and then dipped her spoon into the bowl to withdraw one single flake, chewing on it with agonising indifference.

"She'll be finished soon sweetheart. Be patient. Why don't you make a start on the 'stalactites' paper?

Yeah....right!

Quite some time later, they finally got into the cars, but ended up driving quite a distance from their normal location, before they could find spaces to park. Nobody was in a mood to struggle far with all their gear, so they found a new spot on the beach, just adjacent to where they'd parked.

In fact, it turned out better than expected. A localized sand bar meant that huge waves reared up and crashed across the bar, making wave-jumping a great deal more exciting for the boys. Miguel, Elliott and Sam spent an hour throwing themselves over the breakers, until Sam got bowled over by one outlandish surge of water. He came up coughing and spluttering and, after a few tears, took the offer of going to play on the trampolines with his dad, to make it better!

Miguel toweled dry his messy black hair, and took a long pull at a water bottle to slake his thirst. Spying the teenagers arranged either side of the net some distance away, he nodded towards them. “Come on, let’s see if we can join in?”

Elliott had spotted them too - a group of young teens playing beach volleyball. He was less enthusiastic. "I dunno...," he muttered.

"Oh. Okay," replied Miguel, though his face fell and Elliott could see the tinge of disappointment.

You're just being stupid - and pigheaded, he muttered silently to himself.

“Well, okay…sure, why not? If you want to, let's go ask?" He tried to sound upbeat, but inside, a small spark of disappointment flared. The last days had been great. He’d been enjoying Miguel's friendship and company in a way he'd not had with someone for ages. But of course it wasn't going to last. Why should it? It made sense that Miguel would want – maybe even prefer – to play with his local Spanish friends.

Miguel misinterpreted his reticence. “Don’t worry – it’s a fairly easy game; just knocking a ball over the net. Honestly, you’ll enjoy it, if you give it a go."

They walked over across the golden sands, and Elliott’s worry compounded when one of the teens – who all seemed to be around their own age – called out to them.

“Hey Miguel! Come and play!”

“You know them then?” whispered Elliott uncertainly. His natural shyness returned, multiplying at being the odd one out.

Again.

“A bit,” returned Miguel as they drew closer. “Most of them live nearby here. They’re often on the beach.”

“Two of us,” Miguel called out, waving. “This is my friend Elliott – he’s staying near us. He’s American, but speaks good Spanish.”

There were nine of them. A mixture of guys and girls, arranged either side of one of three volleyball nets, erected at the top of the beach. All three were in use and had been properly and semi-permanently strung. Each court was marked out by its own line cord.

The assembled teams looked at him curiously, and Elliott did his best to appear normal.

“Miguel – you join with Hugo. They need the help.”

Elliott's eyes flicked to the voice, belonging to one he later found out was called Alejandro.

“You...errr... What’s your name…Elliott, you just come over here on our team." The guy threw him the ball and pointing to the back corner. "You're up."

He walked back to the baseline and, looking up, he could see them all staring at him as, to them, it seemed that he fumbled with the ball uncertainly. He was uncertain – though not for the reasons they assumed. Most of the opposing side weren’t really preparing themselves to receive a serve; a few even stood there with arms crossed.

He fingered the ball, looking through the net to the only person he knew. He would have preferred it if they had been on the same team. At least he knew what he was doing. They knew nothing of the five years on the beaches of numerous Latin American countries. Beaches where volleyball was almost a religion. Those five years had left him with some surprising skills.

Hefting the ball in one hand, he checked its weight and size. It was a bit light and small for his liking, but it would do. A light breeze…nothing to worry about. He’d walked across the compacted sand, unconsciously estimating the surface. At the baseline, he squeezed his toes into the sand. Finely textured, but solid enough.

There was obvious amusement, even from his own team, who also had few expectations of him. He walked back from the baseline like professionals do.

Hey, California!" a voice shouted from the other side of the net, "we're over here!" There was a smattering of laughter.

“Come on Hugo, be nice!” Elliot heard Miguel complain. “Just give him a chance, for God’s sake.”

He smiled to himself, touched by the support from the only person who really mattered. What came next surprised the speedos off them!

Suddenly, launching the ball high and forward with his left hand, he took the standard running leap to get height and speed for the smash serve, sending it fast and deep into the opposing court. It hadn’t been intentional to aim directly at Hugo; he was more just hoping he would actually get it over the net and not look a total dork!

Hugo ducked, surprised by the ferocity of the serve. Rapidly, he unfolded his arms to cover his head protectively as it flew at him. The ball just missed, and curved down, to land neatly, just inside the baseline.

“Bloody hell, Elliott! Where did you learn to serve like that?” Miguel echoed what Hugo, and all the rest were thinking. “I thought you said you didn’t know how to play?”

“Nope – I never said that,” grinned Elliott. “You just assumed!”

He served again, proving that the first one wasn’t a fluke. This time, the whole opposing team was balanced and on high alert. It got scrambled back…just. Even so, Elliot’s side won the point easily.

“Okay,” decided Hugo, after several minutes of gameplay, “This clearly isn’t going to work. We need to rebalance the sides.”

“Great! You do what you like – but I’m with Elliott,” called Miguel. He ducked under the net, swapping sides and grinning with a great deal of satisfaction. Elliott smiled at him in bemusement.

“What can I say,” Miguel added. “I hate losing!”

With the teams better arranged, they played long and hard until, at least for Elliott, it got too hot to be under the sun. It was literally too hot to even stand on the sand!

The next day they were back with a vengeance. But, with only six others turning out of bed for that morning, they ended up playing four-on-four, instead of the bigger teams. It was harder work, but he enjoyed teaming with Miguel, the lanky guy, Alejandro and Estela, one of the girls. It turned out to be an unbeatable partnership.

Tired, but triumphant, they drove back up the hill to the apartments at around 12.30. Once more, it had turned out a roasting hot day and everyone wanted a shower to cool off. Most of the sand had been washed away at one of the many open showers at the top of the beach, but they ran with salty water. A good rinse was needed.

"Why don’t you come up to our place?" suggested Miguel, as they tramped up the stairs, not bothering to wait with the others for the lift. "I'm the only one using my shower, and we've got plenty of towels."

It was a sensible plan, and with the rest of the Carters heading to their apartment and already in line for the showers, Elliott nodded gratefully. He let his mom know where he would be and followed Miguel up one floor.

"You go first," he suggested, crashing tiredly on the bed.

Miguel nodded, took some clean clothes from a drawer, and gently closed the door to the shower room behind himself.