Guarding His Desires (Passionate Security Book 2)(15)
"Gustavo."
23
Trust
Zachary serves movie theater-style popcorn while he and Gustavo watch back-to-back episodes of "Laverne & Shirley" on a classics-themed television channel. They laugh together during the first three episodes. Zachary shuts off the television set when the fourth episode-about a man conning Shirley into romance because he thinks she is rich-concludes with moments of despair, followed by renewed hope and fellowship.
"That helped," Gustavo says. "For a while there all my problems were forgotten."
"But it ended on a bummer," Zachary replies. "Don't go thinking I will try to dupe you with romance."
"It did not cross my mind."
"You are very good-looking, Gustavo, but not my type."
"Because I am a guy or because I am repugnant for some other reason?" Gustavo asks, looking down at his feet and trying to will away the blushing that has snuck into his cheeks.
"I am attracted to guys," Zachary says. "I apologize if you thought my comment was an insult."
"I don't like categorizing people as "types" at all," Gustavo responds. "Is that not dehumanizing? Reducing the complexity of a human being down to whether a person fits within a constricting framework?"
"I apologized, Gustavo. No offense was intended."
"You are into guys. But not into me. Is that harsh to hear? Kind of. You probably wish people would not suggest prejudicial ideas about fighters and what motivates them to violence. But maybe you play the same game of forming instant judgements about others. There is no need for you to apologize to me. I am just trying to make a point here."
"Ouch," Zachary replies, trying to return to a state of levity between them. "You certainly made your point. With a wicked tongue."
"My voice can be wicked," Gustavo says, "especially if you don't like hearing my forthright observations."
"Someone hurt you, didn't they? Was it recent?"
"I am pretty certain I have not ever fallen in love. There have been crushes, some of which were intense and emotional. But real, mature, adult love? Where you care for someone else more than yourself and build a life together? No, I have not had that yet. Nothing even close, actually."
"Don't worry about it," Zachary says. "You have all the time in the world to fall head over heels, again and again, in the years to come. There will be no shortage of guys lining up and hoping for your attention."
"Have you been married before?" Gustavo asks.
"No," Zachary answers.
"Is Aleksey your partner as well as your bodyguard?"
"No, that is a boundary he and I never cross. He keeps trying for romance with boyfriends and getting burned. I just want my freedom. Well, the truth is I need my freedom. That is a whole other matter I don't want to wade into right now."
"My most promiscuous friends say the same sort of thing," Gustavo says. "Freedom. Needs. Desires."
"So what?" Zachary asks, shifting in his chair. "I am promiscuous. I am not requesting your approval or congratulations. Everyone is different."
"I am not passing judgment. I don't think in terms of people being better than one another based on how many sex partners they have."
"A good friend, another fighter, jokes that I am like Marlon Brando, who supposedly banged everything and everyone. That is an unfair characterization of Brando. Nevertheless, my friend is wrong is about me too. The conquest-the hunt-is not what I am after. Or any glory from notches in a belt or whatnot."
"Do you have clarity on what you are after?" Gustavo asks, lowering the tone and slowing the speed of his words.
"Of course," Zachary answers. "But how are you and I in such a deep and personal conversation right now?"
"Maybe it is the stress we are under."
"I am always burdened with stress. Always."
"Zach, you don't have to answer my last question. I withdraw it, so to speak."
"Thank you. Maybe that is something I will answer another day. Or maybe not."
Zachary learns nothing of importance when he checks in with Aleksey, Nathaniel, and one of his previous lawyers. He lifts the remote control to turn on the flat screen television again, but drops his arm and instead reaches for his computer tablet. He asks Gustavo if they can find any of his paintings online. Gustavo scoots over to make room for Zachary beside him on the couch. With the tablet between them, Gustavo shares photographs of his artwork displayed on his own web site and the web sites of numerous galleries, mostly in Hawaii, California, and Nevada.
Rather than chronicling his career or explaining any inspirations for his pieces, Gustavo does what he is accustomed to doing when with a person viewing his works. He says nothing. He wants the canvases to speak for themselves. He makes no mention of artistic periods and mixes the order of the paintings, blending the nature pieces and portraits without any plan.
Importantly, Gustavo deliberately avoids looking at Zachary for any reactions. He does not want to invite the man's responses or suggest in any way that he wants his approval, shock, or a cliche comment.
Zachary languidly appraises Gustavo's art without asking any questions. He stares longest at a large painting displayed on the web site of a Honolulu art gallery. It features Diamond Head-the volcanic tuff cone in southeastern Oahu-radiant with color in the boldest hues. The green mountain ridge stretches upward and outward, toward the brilliant blue sky. To its right, turquoise and aqua waves stream in from the ocean. In the distant center, Honolulu skyscrapers fade and provide balance, yet they are overshadowed by the power and glory of nature.
"Phenomenal," Zachary declares, before turning off the tablet. "Especially that last one."
"Thank you, Zachary."
By early evening, with Aleksey still out on his mission, Zachary calls in a takeout dinner order for himself and Gustavo at one of the restaurants on the ground floor of the mixed-use complex that specializes in Asian cuisine. When half an hour has elapsed since placing the order, Zachary hands sixty dollars to Gustavo and describes the nearby location of the restaurant to Gustavo.
"I am going alone?" Gustavo asks.
"There is less risk that you will be identified," Zachary answers. "It's just below the condos in the building next to us. You will be gone only two or three minutes and I have a ball cap I hope you will wear to take an extra precaution."
"I have no problem going to get the food. I am not scared. No one will identify me here. I am not famous. But how do you know I will come back?"
"I think you will return."
"I could take your cash and be gone."
"Gustavo, you are not my captive," Zachary says, handing him the cap. "If you must flee, then go. Disappear. But we have unfinished business and need to help each other, so my wish and expectation is that you return."
Gustavo puts on the cap and leaves the condominium, shutting the door firmly behind him. The lanes around the buildings are crowded with people coming home from their jobs and arriving for the half-dozen restaurants in the complex. A taxi is queued to the front of a stand, awaiting a passenger. Gustavo texts his friend Makena Keahi to let her know he will update her soon on the day's events.
When Gustavo reenters the condo, Zachary is seated at the dining room table. Two plates are set with napkins, silverware, and glasses of chilled sparkling water with lime wedges. They briefly make eye contact, transfer the meals from the containers onto the plates, and then enjoy the hearty dinners in silence. Retiring back to the couch and recliner after cleaning up, Zachary flicks on a table lamp and turns off the unit's overhead lighting.
"You asked for the truth earlier," Zachary says. "I am ready to share, even though it risks unnecessarily scaring you even more. Frankly, I don't know much yet about what is specifically happening, but I can try to put it in some context for you."
"Please," Gustavo replies, pulling his feet onto the couch underneath his thighs.
"You may know of only one or two professional leagues for mixed martial arts fighters. However, there are many. They propel, they collapse. Like any industry, especially one tied to money and fame and entertainment, the best and worst of human nature is drawn in. The tides move so quickly, it is a battle in itself to keep score of who is worthy of being associated with and who is likely to defraud you. The risks are great. The rewards can be too. I imagine the art world can be like this as well."
"Sure, but without sanctioned violence, generally speaking."
"True, but I hope you get my point."
"I do," Gustavo responds. "I understand so far."
"With sports, and perhaps maybe contact sports most of all, the playing field is remarkably level. Almost all of these men and women achieve exceptional conditioning, train with accomplished pros, study all the new moves and techniques easily viewable online, and can reach stardom and contend for championships. But imagine that it is not physicality or agility that determines who reaches the highest echelons of the sport. Imagine that the mental game is paramount. Not just concentration and dedication to goals. Higher stakes-like raw fear and mental balance. For some of us, many of us maybe, at the very top levels, the offspring of these higher stakes include threats, grudges, bluster, intimidation, hatred, obsession. Some take it too far. Way too far. Into criminality."