Tyler sat beside him. “What’s that?” He pointed at the letter.
He crumpled it into a ball and hid it in his clenched fist. “Some instructions from Ian. He can be a control freak. He wants the reopening to be perfect.”
If he’d recognized the handwriting, Tyler didn’t say anything. He knew Ricky had been crying. “Ernesto wants me to finish cleaning the patio. You don’t need to move, boss. Just put your feet up.”
Ricky did as ordered and sat cross-legged where he was. His eyes felt dry, so he looked up. Tyler smiled at him. He asked him how old he was this morning. He said twenty-one. Ricky was right, only three years younger than him. Why did he feel so much older now? Wrinkled up from crying. Spirit drained by out-of-control emotions. He shouldn’t have touched the letter.
“Do you mind if I play some music? Tori has a boom box to keep her company while she does the books. She promised she’d be here tonight. It’s a special night.”
Ricky nodded yes. His throat was still sore. The boom box blasted from inside, pumping out TLC’s Creep. The song they were listening to in his Miata before Jake changed their lives forever. Pushing the broom, he glided back to the patio. He’d changed from his black-and-silver Fantabulous! shirt into a simple, black tank top that suggested the beginnings of a hunky body. A silver chainlink bracelet dangled on his left wrist, where his chrome Seiko dive watch was also wrapped.
“Tori was getting a tattoo after leaving the army. Kitty debuted at a gay bar in East L.A. Markus was a superhero. Tell me your story, Tyler.” Slowly but surely, he smiled. Yes, it’d be a Jake story, but he decided he couldn’t blame the dead. It was the living who fucked them up.
“Ty, remember?” He winked. “I grew up in Orange County. Lived a nice, comfortable childhood until my folks caught me kissing my best friend. They’ve never been religious. We only celebrated Christmas to decorate the house. Show off. It didn’t surprise me when they said having a gay son would ruin their reputation.”
“Gosh.” He couldn’t tell if he was more horrified or angry. “Sorry to hear that. Was that how you ended up at Fantabulous!?”
“Eventually.” He licked his lips. “I met Jake four years ago. Downtown LA. He was buying supplies. I tried to steal his wallet. Instead of calling the cops, he gave me the money in his wallet. Told me to look him up here if I wanted to earn money legitimately. After one more month of sleeping in a condemned building and eating from a trash can, I used the last of my cash to take the bus to Venice. I’ve never left ever since.”
His smile melted into a frown again. Jacob Monk was the saint he’d first met at his memorial. He deserved to be mourned and missed. He was human, too. So he didn’t stop loving Ian. Ricky had made up so many excuses for the same man before New Year’s Eve. Forgave him for his drinking when he fell off the wagon again after the affair. Ricky’s affair. Forgave him after giving him an alibi that dug up more lies. More heartbreak. Unlike him, Ian, or for that matter, Jake had an affair. What if it were Ian who answered, not him, when Jake called? A knot formed in his chest. He wondered when they used up their scorecards.
“Ricky?” Ty called. He wiped his forehead with the ends of his tank top.
“I’m sorry.” Ricky spaced out. The patio was entirely free of debris. A mop and bucket were at the ready. “Are you finished? It looks great.” His face sweltered. He blurted it while staring at Ty’s flat tummy. He covered his face with his hands.
“I’m not done yet. Gotta mop it now. You’ll need to go inside. The sun’s still high. But it’ll take a couple of hours to dry.”
He could live with that. He’d call Ian’s cellular phone. Apart from meeting Mr. Meyers at the police station, Ian promised to sign the lease on the two-bedroom apartment in Silverlake they had agreed on. Just from seeing the entrance, Ricky fell in love with the wrought-iron railing and the black-and-white tile steps. Like miniature pyramids. His boyfriend called the style Art Deco. He felt at home there. He could take the forty-five-minute commute here. He let out a gasp. Things would work out after all.
He spun around to leave Ty to make their patio perfect for tonight. He left just in the nick of time. He’d stripped off his shirt, which was hanging from his back pocket. He looked the other way. It was too late. On Tyler Truman’s smoothly tanned back, he spotted a flood of unique tattoos. Only one got Ricky’s attention. The letters OOL.
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