Skipping Stones Read online

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  SKIPPING STONES

  by

  D. J. MANLY

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

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  Skipping Stones

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.AmberQuill.com

  http://www.AmberHeat.com

  http://www.AmberAllure.com

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2010 by D. J. Manly

  ISBN 978-1-60272-684-0

  Cover Art © 2010 Trace Edward Zaber

  Layout and Formatting

  Provided by: Elemental Alchemy

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by D. J. Manly

  (with A. J. Llewellyn)

  The Driscoll House

  Fawnskin

  Dedication

  For those who believe in forever

  Chapter 1

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  The two female impersonators down the hallway were bickering again. Leo rolled over in bed and buried his head under the blanket. "Shut up," he growled. Hopefully, it wouldn't turn into an all out brawl this time. He ground the pillow into his ear, and the heated words all melded into one another. Love was a bitch.

  "It's difficult to stay in love," Felix had told him the other night in broken English. "I want to fuck him and then sometimes all I want to do is kill him."

  Leo could identify.

  The voices suddenly grew louder. Leo threw his pillow aside and jumped out of bed. "Kill each other and get it over with," he yelled, pounding on the wall. "Just, for Christ sakes, ta gueule!"

  It quieted abruptly, and Leo sighed with relief as he took a small dented saucepan off the hotplate and went into the bathroom. He filled it with tap water and set it on the burner. He searched the cupboard for the small jar of instant coffee he kept on hand. When he found it, he poked a spoon into it, scraped up enough of the dried coffee to make a cup, then waited for the water to boil.

  A door slammed in the hallway and he heard someone walk past, swearing under his breath in French. Jacques. He was always the one who stormed out, leaving Felix to stress out and wonder if he was ever coming back.

  Leo poured some boiling water into the mug. It left a greasy, murky kind of film on top, not exactly inviting, but it would have to do.

  He walked over and glanced down at the street below. A few people stopped to get their newspaper from the vendor on the corner. A taxi honked its horn waiting for its passenger, and two lovers necked in the park. In the distance, he could see the Seine and the Champs-Élysées. Most people would say Paris was beautiful, the city of culture and art, the city of lights, and, of course, the city of love. But to Leo, right now, Paris was the ugliest place on earth, and the threatening rain didn't help.

  He left the window and sat on one of the chairs that accommodated a small round metal table with one wobbly leg. He swallowed a mouthful of the bitter brew, which was lukewarm, if that, and made a face.

  When the timid knock came on his door, he knew who it was. "Bonjour Felix," he sang out, opening the door without even looking at him.

  Felix stood there, the mascara he'd been wearing from the night before smeared down his face. He looked down at his hands, picking at his nails. "He's left me again," he said with that wicked French accent. Felix had run off to New York when he was sixteen, and learned to speak English, among other things.

  Leo shook his head, left the door open, and went to sit at the table again. "I'd offer you coffee, but I don't think you'd..." He indicated the small jar sitting on the counter.

  He put up his hands. "Oh non." He made a face. "That is worse than death. What am I going to do, Leo?" Felix plunked down in the chair across from him, his arm leaning on the unstable table top.

  "What you always do," Leo shrugged, "wait until he comes back. Has he been screwing around again?"

  "He can't help it, it's in his nature." Felix looked around. "You need some color in here."

  "I need more than color, believe me. Anyway, I'm leaving."

  "Ah, Leo, why?" He leaned forward, and grabbed his hand. "You like it here."

  "I have no money." I don't even have the strength anymore to work, or to paint. "This city has lost its appeal."

  "Because of Pierre?" He tried to look sympathetic.

  "Look, you came here to talk about Jacques, not Pierre. I'm finished with men."

  He lifted an eyebrow. "You going to become a...how do they say in your country...a breeder?"

  Leo couldn't help but laugh. "No, I'm not going to be straight. I can't ever be that."

  "I know what you mean," he replied. "But, Leo, you can't give up on love. Love will find you again."

  "Well, if love finds me again, I'm going to run as fast as I can, believe me. Now, let's talk about you. Who did Jacques fuck this time?"

  * * * *

  After some more tears, and some of the same talk Felix always talked, he left Leo's room. Leo knew Jacques would be back later that night, he and Felix would make up, and most of the night he'd hear the sounds of them fucking. Sometimes he thought that's what Jacques and Felix fought for, just for the make up sex.

  Leo washed up and got dressed. He paused to study himself in the mirror for a moment before going downstairs. His ash blond hair needed cutting. It fell past his shoulders. And his deep brown eyes looked tired and sad. He'd lost weight going from his normal well-toned one eighty to one sixty-eight. At five foot eleven, the weight loss made him look almost frail.

  The concierge at the desk looked grumpy as usual when he spotted him. He couldn't speak a word of English, but his body language spoke volumes. The concierge picked up the calendar and pointed to the date, indicating that Leo had three days left until the end of the month. He'd been late last time and that didn't sit well with Monsieur Lemay.

  He'd had a job up until two months ago, and with his painting, he was doing all right. Then everything went to shit, and he'd moved into this hole. Now, he couldn't even afford this dump.

  He nodded at Lemay, and headed through the lobby. It had started to rain and he walked in it without care, taking out his wallet to see if his last few euros were still there.

  He felt far older than his twenty-five years, and he didn't want to think about what would happen once he got kicked out of the dump he was living in. He'd already hawked all his painting supplies, his iPod, and his camera. He'd held onto his cell phone but he hadn't been able to put any time on it in a month. There wasn't much more he could sell except for the clothes on his back or the watch Pierre had given him.

  He stopped in the park and stared at the watch. It was worth a lot of money, and he could probably get enough to buy him a ticket home. Home? He really couldn't go home, not to his parents. They'd put too many conditions on him. Could he sell the watch if it came down to it? It was the last thing he had to remind him of...of what, a love that was a lie from the moment they met?

  He swallowed. Why in hell was he hanging onto it? Pierre didn't love him. He'd never loved him. He'd only used him. When they met, Leo was sure that the earth and the moon revolved around him. Leo had been sitting on the street corner, sketching people, making fairly good money when the weather was good.


  Pierre had come and sat on the stool opposite his easel. "You're American," he'd said, his English cultured and precise. He wore a light colored suit, and his eyes were green, like emeralds.

  "Yes."

  "How much?" he asked.

  Leo had shrugged. "Nothing. It's free."

  He laughed. Leo had sketched him, realizing how beautiful he was with each stroke of his pencil. He tore off the paper and handed it to him. "It's not very good."

  "It's formidable, fantastique!"

  Leo actually blushed.

  Pierre stood and placed some money in his hand, too much. "Take it," he insisted, "please."

  Their eyes had met.

  "I'm an art dealer," he announced. "I know an artist when I meet one. This is my card." He handed it to him. "Call me."

  It had been too exciting. Leo had called him that night. Pierre had come to pick him up at the apartment he shared with two other young men who worked at the same cafe he did. Pierre took him to a party with all kinds of artistic people--painters and writers and musicians. Later, he took him to his penthouse in the center of Paris and they'd made love.

  Pierre had arranged for an art showing and Leo sold his first painting. "You are on your way, Leo," Pierre told him.

  They never spoke of love, but Leo was sure he felt it when he was in Pierre's arms. And Pierre lavished him with things, clothes, and dinners and then the gold watch on his birthday.

  Their affair lasted almost a year, then one night after finishing a shift at the café where he worked, Leo spotted Pierre coming out of one of the theaters with a woman on his arm. Another couple was with them, a woman and a man, and they were laughing and talking together as they walked down the street.

  Leo had been confused. He'd wracked his brain for some plausible explanation. Was it his sister? Finally, a few days later when Pierre came to pick him up to take him to dinner, he came out and asked him.

  Pierre didn't even try to hide it. He simply shrugged and said, "She's my wife."

  Leo was devastated, and when he reacted with anger, Pierre acted surprised as if his reaction was completely out of line. "Leo"--he'd given him his don't be irrational look--"what did you think, that this was love? That we were forever?"

  Leo sat on a park bench now to rest. A bus went by, splashing two little girls who squealed with joy at getting wet. The rain had slacked, leaving the Paris streets slick and gray. The sky looked as if it wasn't entirely ready to stop crying.

  He wasn't ready to stop crying. What did you think...that this was love? That had been the end, of course. Pierre had been angry. He'd been hurt. Pierre had offered to pay his way back home when Leo announced that he was getting the fuck out of this city. Leo told him not to bother. And that had been it. He hadn't seen Pierre again.

  He fell into a depression, missed work a few times, and lost his job. He couldn't pay his share of the rent on the apartment anymore, so he took what money he'd saved and got a room. When the money began to dry up, he sold what he could. And now he wondered why he'd waited so long to leave. Did he think Pierre would suddenly decide to dump his wife and come running to him, declaring his love, and falling on his knees to apologize? It was never going to happen.

  Love and pain seemed synonymous to him. That's why he was better off forgetting about it altogether.

  "Are you swearing off sex, too?" Mark had asked him the last time he'd called him.

  "I didn't say that." Leo laughed. "They're not the same things. Love I can live without; sex, I can't."

  "One can lead to another."

  "In your case, yeah, and look where that's gotten you."

  "We're not talking about me. We're talking about you, crazy boy."

  Crazy boy. It was a nickname Mark had given him when they were teenagers, and it had stuck. He still called him crazy boy.

  Mark had been after him to come to Florida for the last two months. He had some financial interest in a Florida resort which was a few miles north of Lake Worth. "I'm here all alone now. Reed is gone. He's been gone for months without a word."

  "You're better off without that ass."

  No answer. Mark was great at giving advice, but not so great at taking it. "If you need money, Leo, I..."

  At that time, he'd still had his job at the cafe. He was still living in the apartment, too. The depression over losing Pierre hadn't really set in. He'd thought he'd be all right and, deep down, refused to accept that it was really over.

  Now, it was a different story. He'd written Mark a while back, depressed and feeling like there was no way out of this deep well he found himself in. His letter was a call for help. Now he regretted posting it and wished he hadn't acted so hastily. Mark had probably freaked when he got it. And although Leo had told him he may have to move out of the apartment, he'd never said that it was already a done deal.

  Leo spent his last few euros on some good coffee and a pastry. When he arrived back at the run down hotel, Mr. Lemay pushed an envelope across the counter. "Pour vous, Monsieur Waters," he said, then muttered something else about the rent money.

  "Oui, oui," Leo replied, checking the envelope. It was from Mark, and he'd sent it to his former address. One of his old roommates must have brought it to him. He went back up to his room, tore open the envelope and pulled out the paper. He flopped on the bed and began to read.

  Hey, crazy boy...now I'm worried. What in hell is going on with you? I thought you told me you'd get over this closet case? Leo, I want you to come home. Come to Florida. You can work for me and paint. It's quiet season. We have only one guest and I'm alone. I miss you. No man is worth killing yourself over. Call me collect when you get this and I'll help you get home. You can owe me.

  Love, Mark

  "No man is worth killing yourself over?" Leo scoffed. "Get real, Mark!"

  He threw the letter aside. Mark had written him so many letters over the years about Reed, the man Leo had come to hate, and suicide had come up more than once. Mark was the last person to be proselytizing about that!

  Leo had met Mark in grade school and they'd become the best of friends. Being gay was something they discovered as adolescence approached. It was their secret, a secret that bonded them together like none other.

  By the time Leo turned fourteen, he was crazy in love with Mark. He imagined that they'd be together forever and eventually their friendship would turn physical. Every time Mark had sex with another boy, it practically ripped his heart out, but he never said anything. Then they roomed together at college, and Mark finally began to look at him differently. Mark even talked about the possibility of sex between them, and Leo was in seventh heaven.

  Then Mark's parents wanted to take him to Florida on vacation. Leo was invited to go along but he didn't have the cash. His parents weren't as well off as Leo's, and he had to stay behind and work in order to pay for his tuition and books.

  When Mark came back to school, everything had changed. He confessed to Leo that he was in love. He'd met this guy called Reed on holiday. He'd said that he was a few years older, devastatingly gorgeous and very experienced in bed. Two weeks after Mark came back from vacation, he suddenly dropped out of school and hitchhiked back to Florida to be with Reed.

  Mark's parents were up in arms. Leo had been crushed.

  Over the next two years of college, Mark made several attempts to keep in touch with him. He'd write, and write, and finally, missing his best friend, Leo wrote back. By that time, his plans were made to travel around Europe, absorb some culture, and paint. He'd put his hurt feelings aside and their correspondence continued.

  The letters Mark sent him were filled with stories about Reed. Mark was desperately in love and it appeared this Reed guy took him for granted and had a knack of breaking his heart over and over again. He was always letting him down, and Mark would write how he was going to leave him but then the sex was too hot, or he'd do something sweet and all would be right with the world.

  Eventually Reed's parents, the Owens, decided to giv
e the business over to their son, and Mark wrote that he was spending more and more time running the business, and Reed seemed to be spending more and more of his time away. Eventually, Reed had given him some financial stake in the business, and Mark spoke less and less about Reed Owens in his letters.

  "Fucking men," Leo muttered now as he threw Mark's letter aside and walked out into the hallway. He checked the time and picked up the pay phone. It was early in the morning there but Mark had always been an early riser.

  He'd made up his mind. He was going to take Mark up on his offer. He was going to start his life over again, leave this city, Pierre, and love behind.

  When he heard Mark's voice, he smiled. "Hey, I didn't wake you, did I?"

  "Leo? Where in the fuck are you? You got my letter? Are you all right?"

  "Yes, no. I guess so. I'm heartbroken, Mark." He lowered his head and cried a little.

  "I know, I know," Mark replied, trying to sound soothing. "Let that be a lesson to you, one I know well...never fall in love with a beautiful man, men who can have anyone they want on their knees. They'll use and abuse you."

  Leo brought his voice under control again. "I could use some help getting there."

  "You're coming then?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, look I'll reserve a ticket in your name and pay for it. You just get to the airport. Can you do that?"

  "I think so. I'm not sure...I...have enough cash for..."

  "Shit, Leo. Okay. I'll go through an agent, get you a shuttle. I'll be there to meet you. Give me your number there. I'll call you right back to tell you the time and don't go anywhere. You hear me?"

  "Mark, I..."