Suddenly Forever (m x m)

Part Eight

They walked the streets of New Orleans. To everyone else they were just two men--maybe friends, maybe business associates out in the late morning air.

The morning had been humid enough, but by the time noon came it was dense and heavy. Tiny beads of sweat danced on the men's temples. Rene suggested they go to a little place to eat.

The café was shady and had a good cross-breeze. Garret nodded. He knew the place. The food was good; the cross-breeze slight, but still appreciated. Garret and Rene sat back in their seats, people watching, chatting like they were mere friends. Despite the heat, Rene ordered a coffee before they finished their meal.

When they'd been eating, Garret and Rene used their feet to brush each other under the table, on purpose. As they walked, they'd give each other covert touches. So quick no one saw, so slight no one read into them. 

All too soon, the day ended. Rene walked Garret within a block of his apartment like he'd asked. 

"I still haven't come up with a story about you to tell my landlady." Garret said.

Rene snickered, asking if she'd really be watching at the window so closely.

"If you only knew." Garret muttered.

Rene wanted to kiss Garret goodbye with everything in him. After their night together, the morning, this whole day, he didn't want to simply leave Garret with a nod. But the streets were just busy enough to be risky, someone would see. Garret's blue eyes lifted, gazing over the brim of his hat, "So this is it, huh?"

"It don't gotta be." Rene said softly.

That was not the answer Garret was ready for, but when the words left Rene's mouth, he realized it was the answer he'd been hoping for. Garret wasn't sure how to answer back.

"I . . . ." was all he managed.

Rene smirked, "Ya know, I think I remember givin' ya a number. It still works."

Garret blushed, nodded with a smirk of his own.

"And now dat I been thinkin' 'bout it, it not all fair that I done give ya mine, but I don't have yours . . .eh?" Rene's emerald eyes twinkled.

"I don't have a napkin to write it on." Garret quipped.

"Don't need one." Rene reached in his front trouser pocket, pulled out a matchbook, "This good as anythin', I say. After all, ya lit mah fire." he finished like he knew it was corny.

"Oh." Garret cringed at the pun with a chuckle. Taking the matchbook, he pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket writing his number on the back.

Rene took the book, flipping it in his fingers a few times before whispering, "I'll be seein' ya sometime." he left with a wink.

Garret watched him as he strode away, his eyes roamed Rene from shoulders to ass and back again. Finally he turned, heading home.

                                                                         ***

It'd been five days. Rene hadn't called. Garret'd wanted to call Rene himself, but every time he picked up the phone, he'd set the black receiver back in its cradle. 

What would he say? "Hey wanna fuck again, this time I penetrate?"

What would he talk about? The fact he was having trouble with his writing career and had lined up a job filing books at the library until further notice?

That sounded more like a way to end a relationship then start one.

He then wondered why Rene hadn't called. Was he uncertain like Garret . . . or had the sexy Cajun simply forgotten all about him. Maybe even picked up some other guy in a speak-easy. Garret suddenly thought about some other man tied to Rene's bedpost.

He pushed the vision from his mind as his heart clenched. He didn't want to think about that.

Garret wouldn't know what went on in the speak-easy as of late. He hadn't been to the Purple Madame since his one-nighter with Rene. He'd been too afraid to hear what Rene'd been up to, he didn't even ask Dottie anything about it.

Dottie'd mentioned Pete asking where her blonde friend had gone. Dottie said she'd told Pete he was out looking for a writing job . . . which wasn't a total lie.

Then one morning, while he was dressing to head to the library, it rang. The phone's bell almost seemed like an alarm. Garret looked away from buttoning his pants and stared at the black machine on his bedtable. It rang again.

It was probably the librarian Mrs. Laboux, telling him they needed paperclips again--he really couldn't figure out what that woman did with paperclips.

Garret picked up the phone, said a tentative hello.

"Bon matin, cher." the Cajun accent seemed to change time around Garret. It froze. He froze. 

He made himself say something.

"Good morning, Rene Laroux." just saying his name made Garret's pulse quicken.

Rene laughed softly when Garret used his full name, "Busy?"

"Just gettin' ready for work."

"At a newspaper?"

Was it him, or did Rene actually sound hopeful Garet had found work?

"No. The library. The papers are being bitchy at the moment."

"Their loss." Rene paused, "Sorry I haven't called earlier I . . ." he didn't know how to explain it, really.

"Yeah, me, too." Garret smiled.

Rene chuckled, "We both really somethin', eh?"

"That's one way to put it."

"Well, if ya ain't busy ta'night, how 'bout . . .a drink?"

Garret felt a weight lift off his heart. So Rene was still interested, "Yes, I'd love to."

"How's da Purple Madam sound?"

"Sounds filled with ghosts. I haven't been there since that night."

"Me neither. Shall we go hunt ghos' then?" Garret could hear the smirk in Rene's voice as he asked the question. He could also hear the tinge of tentative hopefulness.

Garret sucked his lip, then answered, "Sure. Let's see how many we can catch."

That night they sat at the bar, drank, caught up with each other. No one at the Purple Madame knew what this bar meant to Garret and Rene--no one but Dottie and Pete. And those two kept their mouths clamped shut as tight as a conservative's viewpoints.

By the time Garret and Rene left the Purple Madame a little after midnight, there were no more ghosts.