Will saw Matt and Reid out, explaining to them both about Elliott and how he’d been the driving force behind the project. Reid said he was in with both feet, even more so now that he knew the story behind it.
When Will returned, he immediately pulled me into him, stroking my head and listening to my emotional ramblings until I was all cried out.
“I was doubting myself, but hearing him talk about the centre–”
“I know, Skye. I know.”
“He could have done what Elliott did. We could have lost someone else, but he got help.”
“He did,” He soothed. “You’re right.” A knock pulled us apart. Matt smiled and Will stepped back, losing contact, contact I need so much.
“Sorry to…interrupt,” Matt said. “Reid asked me to offer you a suggestion about the scene.”
I wiped my eyes. “What is it?”
“Reid’s partner, James, used to do porn work years ago but he’s now a freelance photographer who shoots a lot of gay images for trendy magazines. Reid talked to him about the project before he came today and he’s fairly sure that he’d be in agreement for them to film a scene together.”
“He would?” I said, wiping my nose with my sleeve. “Why would he do that?”
“James contracted HIV about seven years ago and feels passionately about the message of safe sex. He really likes what you’re trying to do here, Skye. I think this is a great option for you. It can remove barriers about HIV in the porn industry. Fuck, it can remove barriers full stop. You can promote healthy and consensual sex, a couple living life after an HIV diagnoses and show a happy, committed, real-life gay couple.”
Will nodded his head and started to clap. “Boom,” he said. “I do believe that Matt…just dropped the mic.”
13
Skye
“You’ve got a hairball the size of a football down here.”
“Well, if you get it out in one piece, I’ll let you keep it for Sunday practice,” I replied, eyes fixated on Will who was currently crouching on all fours under the sink in the back of Vanity Fur.
“You’re so funny,” he mumbled as he started hitting a pipe with a spanner.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Skye, you ask me to do this shit and I never know what I’m doing.”
“It’s entertaining watching you though.”
His head bobbed up and smacked against the unit. “Bloody, fuck!” He appeared, still clutching his head with one hand and a thick clump of dog hair in the other. He threw it down into the sink and it thumped like it had its own heartbeat. “There’s the problem.”
“Yummy,” I replied, smiling.
“Next time you ask me for a favour, I’m saying no.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “You’ll be back.”
He was about to speak when his phone rang. He wiped his hands on a towel and took a deep breath when he saw who was calling. I pretended to busy myself, putting bottles of dog shampoo back in the cupboard and twisting the bottles so that the labels all faced the same way.
“Hey,” he said, turning his back. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’m happy to meet you or I can pick you up?” I dropped the wet towels into a bin bag, tied a knot and threw it onto the pavement. “Once I’ve got a few drinks in me.” He laughed a little. It felt weak and small. “Who knows where the night may lead.” Silence. Whoever was on the phone could talk. He listened and moved his head from side to side. I could hear the little clicks of his neck. “Sounds good. I’ll see you around nine. Great. See you then.”
He finally turned and tapped a little nervous tune on the steel with his fingers. “Everything OK?” I asked.
“Fine.” The tune continued and he looked anywhere but at me.
“You out tonight?”
“Yep.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Just out.”
“Anywhere good?”
“Yeah.”
I laughed, couldn’t help myself. This was painful. One-word answers were difficult to turn into a conversation and I wanted to know where he was going. I needed to know with whom. “Spare me the details, won’t you. Oh, wait a minute, you have.” He put his hands in his pockets and finally met my eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re making this really difficult.”
“What?”
“Having a fucking conversation!”
His sigh filled the small space in the back of my van. “I’m meeting Margot tonight.”
I stumbled back a little, knocked by his words, thrown off balance by the meaning. “Oh.” I fumbled around trying to feel something that would hold me up. I found the edge of the sink and squeezed my hands against it. “OK.”
“She wanted to go to that new club downtown.”
“A club?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a crap dancer,” I replied. “Does she know this? She should know this…really because it can come as quite a shock when you first witness it, truthfully, limbs flinging, legs kicking. I should warn her.”
He bit his lip.
Fuck. A truth bite.
“She’s already seen your dancing?” He nodded. His second sigh filled the corners the first one hadn’t quite reached. “Oh.”
“We went out a couple of nights ago,” he said. “Had a bit too much to drink.” I covered my ears with my hands, unsure where this conversation would lead, being unable to take it if he even insinuated that anything else happened between them but dancing. Dancing was enough. Dancing was too much.
“I need to get this place closed up for the night,” I said, shutting cupboard doors and picking up the hairball. I crushed it in my hand and water dripped down my arms wetting my sleeves. I needed that – the cold, wet, awful feeling. “Do you mind.” I held up my finger and twirled it before pointing to the door. “I need you to go.” He almost ran. I threw the hair into the bin and slammed the
