“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” Joachim screamed back. “I don’t have any more money! I’ve already given it all to you. There’s no more here.”
The drunk man growled like a bear and slurred some words Jeffrey couldn’t make out. The walls of the trailer house shook as something slammed against it, hard. Had he tripped? That was one nasty impact, whatever it was.
There was a series of “You’re fine, you’re fine,” from Joachim as he presumably tried to pick the man up.
Then, more growling. Jeffrey could only make out one word, but even under the cloth, he had no trouble telling what it was: Money.
There was a cry of pain, and something slammed against the floor. Joachim.
“Stop hitting me! If you touch me again, I’m calling the cops!”
More growling, then two pairs of feet lumbering out of the trailer.
And then silence. It stretched a minute or more before a set of footsteps told Jeffrey someone had returned.
“…You can come out now.”
Joachim sighed in relief when Jeffrey poked his head out of his hiding place.
“Oh, you gave me the fright of my life. What were you thinking, showing up here to surprise me? I swore I was going to be killed.”
“If that had gone on thirty seconds longer, I would have called the cops.”
“The cops you know don’t come to neighborhoods like mine, hon.” Joachim shook his head and spotted the blood on the back of his hand.
There was a cut on the corner of his mouth, too. Joachim made an exasperated face and opened a trapdoor in the kitchen floor to access the storage space beneath. Out came a first aid kit stuffed with bandages and ointment—and, Jeffrey noticed, especially thick foundation and concealer.
He watched this scene play out from a few paces away, his arms folded across his chest.
“Who was that, if I might ask?”
“My boyfriend and life partner. We’ve been together for years now.”
“Does he live here, too?”
“No. Two blocks down in a place with his wife.”
This relationship made no sense to Jeffrey, but he managed a half-hearted nod and walked over to kneel on the floor next to Joachim. He lifted Joachim’s chin and made him look into the mirror of Jeffrey’s eyes.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Jeffrey said.
“It’s not that serious. A little foundation, and you’d never know the difference.”
“Foundation doesn’t heal split lips.”
“But it can make it seem like it never happened.”
“I’m worried about your mental health, too. It can’t be good to take a beating like that.”
“Are you going to break our promise? I thought we weren’t going to make each other happy.”
A threatening edge crept into Jeffrey’s voice. “A fat load of good happiness is when you’re dead. Don’t you want to live?”
Joachim bit his lip, but, when Jeffrey did not move, finally nodded silently.
Jeffrey helped him into a cab which sped off for the hospital. He ignored the one that saw a steady stream of car crash victims, the one for low-income folks. Instead, he picked one where those who were—well, if not celebrities, financially comfortable—could seek help in the middle of the night.
Jeffrey didn’t have long to wait before Joachim came out of the exam room with a square of gauze taped to his cheek. The payment had already been taken care of, so he stood up from the waiting room’s bench, escorted the taciturn Joachim out, and called for a taxi to the Empire State Building. It was only when they were seated beside a window in the ESB’s restaurant, surveying the city lights below and sipping on the smoothies New York was known for, that Joachim spoke up.
“…I was eighteen, and my boyfriend and I were high on pot. I was the driver. We were speeding down the highway when I looked up and saw a cop on our tail. I thought I was done for. So I tried to shake him, and I lost control of the steering wheel. Drove us right into a wall. I passed out, and the next thing I knew, they were telling me my boyfriend was dead. I murdered him.”
Manslaughterer, technically—but Jeffrey kept that thought to himself. Either way, Joachim didn’t seem to agree. His dark eyes were fixed on a single point in his reflection in the glass, the city below completely ignored.
“So, who was the guy from earlier?”
“My boyfriend’s younger brother. He’s as much of a lowlife as I am. Always hurting for money, and lately cash runs through his fingers like a bucket with no bottom.”
“Ah.”
Now it made sense. Joachim felt he owed a debt, indirectly, to this man. It also explained the mystery of why Joachim, a man who should have had enough money to rent a small apartment in Queens, couldn’t seem to afford restaurant-going clothes.
“So you’re stuck forking over tribute to him for life.”
“…It’s not tribute.”
There was a pointed silence. Sure seems like it.
“Well,” Joachim relented, “there are some things that can never be undone, and I just don’t want to forget that, criminal that I am. That’s what keeps me living. That man may be gutter trash, but he’s a handy reminder that I belong in the gutter, too. Convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
“A reminder, huh?”
Jeffrey smiled, looking out at the reflection of his face superimposed on the city lights. Social media, tabloid, and newspaper star Jeffrey Claremont wasn’t looking so hot. Kind of run-down, in fact. Once again, Jeffrey thought, God, I hate this man.
He carefully reached out across the table and squeezed Joachim’s hand. Joachim looked up, startled, but Jeffrey didn’t meet his eyes. He spoke to the window instead.
“I should preface this by telling you I don’t have strong feelings of any kind for you. I could live without a stylist, and we don’t have that much of a personal connection. But sometimes, when you’re here, I get this huge rush of relief. Today’s one of those days. So let me stay here and hold your hand for a few more minutes. Once I get my fix of relief, I’ll let you go.”
Silence.
“Oh, don’t think I’m trying to make you feel better. I’m just telling the truth. Your outfits and your dancing seem to have this effect on me, and I think that must be why I keep coming back to see you. I’ve always wondered why I feel so calm around you. I used to think, maybe it’s because you don’t like yourself so much. Maybe it’s because you’re one of those people who lives for a reason. Now, I know.”
Joachim lifted his forehead from where he had rested it against the window glass and turned to stare into Jeffrey’s eyes. Jeffrey gave him a little smile back.
“You hate yourself, but you refuse to die. You need to stay alive to atone for what you’ve done, isn’t that right? That’s a shitty way to live, but it also takes real backbone. It takes the kind of fortitude you need to let your bones be broken and your flesh carved from your body. It takes guts.”
More silence.
“I’m rooting for you, you know.”
Jeffrey smiled his politest, most impersonal smile, as if Joachim’s bruised and battered face was a business partner’s he’d seen hundreds of times. Then, after pressing a short kiss to their entwined hands, Jeffrey let Joachim go.
For a moment, Joachim studied Jeffrey’s face in silence before a smile of defeat reached his lips.
“…Wouldn’t it be nice if there was an easier way to live?” he said.
“Are you talking to yourself?”
“But of course I am. Still, if someone who’s just like me happens to hear this, maybe this will resonate with him, too. Life is so hard. If only we could all have an easier time of it.”
“Truth is, life’s not easy at all.”
“Amen to that, brother.”
Jeffrey and Joachim shared a smile. It was so sunny, it was almost as if Joachim hadn’t been brutally beaten just a handful of hours ago. God. The horror of it all made Jeffrey sick to his stomach.
He gave Joachim another shallow grin. “Say, are you free after this?”
“…Sorry, hon. Not tonight.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything big. My place has good room service.”
“Find someone else to bait the paparazzi with, love. I’ll pass.”