"Is everything okay?" the man asks, his dimples emerging.
"Who are you?" Aleksey demands.
"Pete."
Rafael joins Aleksey at the railing, still nude and wearing the condom, and grabs Aleksey's arm.
"Who is Pete?" Aleksey asks Rafael.
"Your special surprise."
"Do I come up or leave?" Pete asks.
"Hang on, Pete," Rafael answers. "Aleksey was not expecting this."
"You work together?" Aleksey asks.
"Yes, we are co-workers at the auto garage," Pete answers.
"Come upstairs," Aleksey says.
Pete, who is Aleksey's age, about ten years younger than Rafael, follows them into the bedroom. He has blue eyes, light brown hair parted on the side, a slender build, and tattoos across his knuckles that read "FIRE" and "FURY".
"Rafael didn't tell you he invited me?" Pete asks.
"Not in so many words," Aleksey says, sitting alone on the bed and shooting a glance of contempt at Rafael.
"It does not look like you want me to be here," Pete states.
"I have nothing against you," Aleksey replies. "Do you want to be here, Pete?"
"Yes."
"Give him a chance," Rafael says to Aleksey, trying to sit beside him. But Aleksey pushes Rafael forward, toward Pete.
"Pete, do you want Rafael to undress you?" Aleksey asks.
"Sure."
Rafael begins unzipping the coveralls and slipping it off of Pete's body.
"What did Rafael tell you was going to happen?" Aleksey asks.
"I told Pete he could help me top you," Rafael asserts. "Pete can be a top to help me satisfy your insatiability."
"Nah, I don't think that is what he said, is it, Pete?" Aleksey asks.
"It is," Pete says, shrugging and stepping out of the coveralls at his ankles. "A threesome."
"Why did you think you would be attracted to me?" Aleksey asks.
"Rafael showed me your picture," Pete answers.
"When? Today?"
"Yes, just before we came here."
Aleksey nods at Pete and watches Rafael pull his boxers down to his knees.
"You have a good body, Pete," Aleksey says.
"Thank you, but it is not half as hot as yours."
"Rafael likes it. That is all that matters."
Aleksey calmly lifts off the bed and hugs Rafael.
"Or I should say, it is all that used to matter," Aleksey says, kissing Rafael on the forehead with an exaggerated smacking sound.
"That is goodbye?" Rafael asks.
"It sure is," Aleksey answers, then turns toward Pete. "Rafael is all yours now."
"You are leaving?" Pete asks.
"Of course."
"You had him strip me in front of you to humiliate me?"
"No, Pete, I needed to see how he touched you. And how you responded. What I saw was plain and clear. You two have touched each other before."
"So what?" Pete asks.
"I have been faithful to Rafael," Aleksey answers.
"Rafael told me you were the hottest piece of ass and a longtime friend of his."
"We were more," Aleksey replies. "Good luck to you, Pete."
"Aleksey, it is not cheating if you are included," Rafael says, following him down the hallway and the stairs. "All this long distance shit. I don't know what you are doing in other cities. You won't even tell me who you work for. All these damn secrets."
"Try not to hurt Pete," Aleksey says. "I am leaving you sad, but not angry. Take care."
Aleksey gently closes the door, meanders around the residential neighborhoods, and returns to the condominium complex once his heart rate and breathing return to normal. Zachary, waiting for him at the door of the unit, embraces Aleksey, shuts the door, and lets Aleksey know he can cry on his shoulder.
"No tears today," Aleksey says. "Not today."
"You were a champ for giving love a try," Zachary says.
"I will fall in love again. I still have hope."
"Then be ready for the pain and the disappointment. Don't be in a hurry to choose."
"Choose between what?" Aleksey asks.
"Love or freedom. You have to realize what you really, truly need."
19
Intersect
Gustavo, at the moment, is equally frustrated and amused. The office complex's two wings deceptively pose as arms, welcoming visitors in the manner of a hospital or church plaza. But he is stuck in the center lobby, a cylinder-shaped space with a lofty ceiling and slate wall of babbling water drowning out most of the footsteps, rings, and other sounds expected in a modern office building.
Looking again at his watch, Gustavo calculates he has been waiting more than seventy minutes for an answer to his request. He puts down the sports magazine he has been thumbing through and approaches the silver-haired woman with the precisely coiffed beehive hairstyle. Her reception desk is a wavy block of transparent glass. A stoic security guard stands several feet behind her.
"May I help you?" she asks, raising her eyebrows, feigning surprise.
"I am hoping to get an estimate on how long I should continue waiting for an answer from Heather Wanda," Gustavo answers.
"Sir, you did not arrive with an appointment with Ms. Wanda."
"I admitted that."
"Well?"
"Does she know I am here and humbly requesting a minute of her time?" Gustavo asks.
"A humble request?" the receptionist answers. "No, I will phone her office again and emphasize that your request is a humble one, even though you have refused to provide your name, occupation, or phone number. Is that satisfactory?"
"And mention that I may or may not possess something that belongs to her."
"Quite right," the receptionist mocks him, "a possession of some sort. Belonging to her or not. You would be well advised to not attempt a solicitation in this manner."
"It seems I have agitated you. I regret that. I think I have been patient and polite."
The receptionist rolls her eyes, turns in her seat to make eye contact with the security guard, then looks downward at the directory in front of her.
"Please be seated, sir."
Gustavo hesitates, remaining at the desk, deciding whether to ask if the receptionist has a supervisor. The security guard, with his eyes only on the entrance door, commands Gustavo to back away, dismissing him with a push from the back of his hand against Gustavo's chest. The receptionist, suddenly shining with a smile and beaming eyes, joins the security guard in the entry to welcome a special visitor. The man has a goatee, a belt with a prominent Z-shaped buckle between jeans and a half-black and half-grey t-shirt, and wolf-like facial features that Gustavo recognizes.
"Mr. Fellini," the receptionist fawns. "It is so good to see you again."
"Thank you for your kindness, Darla," Zachary responds, holding the door behind him open for Aleksey.
"Ms. Wanda is eager to see you. Gregory here will escort you and your assistant to her office."
"We know the way. We will go alone."
"If it was anybody else but you, I would insist," Darla replies, gesturing him toward the hallway. "Please let us know if there is anything we can do for you."
Zachary nods his appreciation, glances around the room, and disappears with Aleksey down the hall. Gustavo returns to his seat in the lobby and picks up the same magazine.
Heather Wanda greets Zachary with a tilted head, sly smirk, and bony hands on her narrow hips. Her tight knit dress is beige and unadorned, but her lipstick is dark burgundy and her long earrings-hoops with hanging silver beads-reach the base of her slender neck. She greets Zachary with kisses on both cheeks, ignores Aleksey, and directs the men away from her desk to the sectional sofa in her spacious office. Zachary and Aleksey sit perpendicular to her, underneath rows of framed photographs taken of herself with famous poker players, sports stars, actresses and actors, and politicians.
"Heather, we have known each other for many years," Zachary begins. "Through some ups and downs."
"Indeed," she replies.
"I would like to think we have earned some level of each other's respect."
"Yeah, even though you fired me," Heather says, biting her bottom lip.
"That was long ago," Zachary reminds her.
"Public relations experts remember everything."
"Then I trust you recall I paid you well, and fairly, and we parted ways during your personal upheaval."
"Sure," Heather shrugs, "with no second chances."
"But with regret, Heather. I rooted for you throughout your recovery. I knew you could conquer addiction. You can conquer anything."
"Thank you. But it did not go unnoticed that you refused to rehire me."
Heather moves to the edge of the sectional, closer to the men, but with her legs aimed away from them. She forces a smile.
"What is behind your urgent request to see me this morning, Zach?" she asks, seemingly distracted, fussing with her ear lobe.
"Something dead crawled out of its grave."
"That sounds like a horror movie."
"That may be an apt description," Zachary replies.
"So?"
"A former or current client of yours-the people behind a once promising, but decaying fighting league-may be springing out of dormancy."