“Which perfumery?” There were at least ten that I’d found on my walks down to the beach.

  “Ha! Ah, yes truth. There are many stores that make scents. I will take you into them all, buy you perfumed oils, and then spend our nights rubbing those oils into your skin.” He opened one startling blue eye to see if I was paying attention. I was spellbound, flushed, exasperated, and mildly amused. “You like that idea. I can tell. See, who needs boyfriend who would rather spend time with big stone block than with a sensual beauty as you?”

  “It’s not that he would rather spend time in Mecca, it’s part of his religion and…why am I telling you this? I don’t even know you.” I stood up, grabbed one edge of my beach blanket and tugged. René just laid there, squinting up at me, his lips playing with a smile.

  “You are telling me because you are lonely boy who needs a man to talk to. Also, you cannot help yourself from speaking at me because I am so beautiful. Your talk floats to me is natural.” He crossed one thin leg over the other, bouncing his foot casually, not a concern in the world about the irate American trying to roll his ass off his towel. His anklets tinkled melodiously as his foot bobbed. “I am like magnet to words in soft bubbles.”

  I stopped jerking on my towel and gaped, then, unbidden, a soft snort of amusement escaped. It had been so long since I’d found humor in anything that the noise startled me.

  “You’re too weird.” I let the towel flutter back to the beach. Looking upward when the sun broke through the clouds, I wondered how my life had led me to this moment and this man. Rightfully I should be in Britain making love to Khalid, but here I was on the French Riviera, talking gobble-gook with one of the most uniquely gay men I’d ever met. Not that I’d met many to be honest, but I doubted there would be many like René back in Cheltenham.

  “I am also parched. Come, my sweet puppy boy. I will take you to my shack on the hill, give you wine and tiny baked things, and lure you into my bed.” He stood up and looked down on me, his lean frame easily taking him to six feet six. He held out his hand. The fingernails were short, shiny, and soft pink.

  “My name is Dane.”

  “Oh! Like a Great Dane dog. I am so fond of this name. I will call you your name!” He latched onto my wrist, tugged, and off we went, me fumbling to try to gather up my towel as he yanked me along in his wake like a pup not used to the leash. Past umbrellas and tourists we went, barefooted, until we were back on the warm cobblestones of Èze, my soles soaking up the heat from the well-worn tan and brick-toned rocks.

  “Come up here.” René pulled me up winding staircases and under stone arches, up and up, his mouth running steadily about things I had no knowledge of or couldn’t understand as I struggled to keep up with his longer gait. “See this beautiful villa here, this is mine.”

  We paused at the stone stairs leading up to a bright yellow villa that looked as if the hand of a mighty god had shoved it into the side of the tree-covered mountain that surveyed the sea. Standing there staring up at his home, a wind snarled down the street, the air thick with the scent of the flowers that covered walls and lattice-work fencing. If I had to describe Èze in three words they would be floral, windy, and captivating.

  “My papa gave it to me. Come. We will sip wine, and I will let you fall under my spell as I have fallen under yours.” He bent down to kiss my cheek. We scaled the steep steps into the safflower home with the bluebonnet-colored shutters. Once inside, I was stunned at the opulence that swallowed your senses. Marble floors, sweeping views no matter which way you looked, rooms that were open and wide with sheer curtains swelling and then deflating with dancing currents off the ocean so far below. I padded breathlessly into the nearest room, my sight locked on the open bay doors leading onto a stone-floored patio. René flopped down onto a huge white couch, his grimy feet resting on the thick cushion with total disregard.

  “Your father gave you this?” I asked, my soles now cool from the smooth marble floors. I ran a hand over the back of a luxurious rose-colored chair with a high back. Over in the corner was a massive birdcage filled with exotic little birds with yellow bodies and orange heads. “Does he own Europe?”

  I heard René giggle behind me. “No, Papa makes yachts. It’s lucrative. He spoils me.”

  “Yeah, I’d say.” I stepped out onto the patio, inhaled, and stared down at the brilliant blue Mediterranean Sea, my sight touching on burnt sienna slate roofs, white church spires, and deep green trees then sweeping down to the ocean. Sailboats with fluttering sails of white, yellow, and red moved lazily over the water as did powerboats and massive yachts.

  “Come in out of the sun before you burn your soft skin,” he called from within the coolness of his house. I dawdled a bit before heading in, taking time to touch the waxy leaves of a giant plant in a stucco pot shielding a Grecian statue of the goddess Athena, judging by the bow in her hand and the hound at her feet. “Come have wine and smokes.”

  Stepping back inside, René danced past me, a wine bottle in one hand and a bong in the other. This time I laughed aloud, the birds in the corner singing steadily.

  “You don’t seriously think I’m going to get wasted and fuck you, do you?”

  He bumped my hip with his then kept nudging until we were on the white sofa, side-by-side, his cool thigh pressed to mine.

  “I am hoping some wine and smokes will soften that stick up your nice little ass,” he admitted while passing the bong, bowl packed with pot, to me so he could struggle with a corkscrew. “You are super stress person. Super stress.” The cork came out with a loud “Pop!” that startled me.

  “Here. Wine. Drink.” He passed me a large delicate goblet with four or five inches of deep red wine in it. He took the bong back and fired it up. I sat on the edge of the couch, watching him inhale deeply, hold his breath, and then exhale in my direction, his gaze suddenly serious. He offered me the bong, but I refused with a shake of my head. “So stick in the ass. Drink. We need to make more talking about this boyfriend of yours.”

  “Nope, that’s off limits.” I took a long pull, shuddered, and then emptied my glass and held it out to him for more.

  “Posh, why off limits?” he asked and poured with flair, filling the wine glass nearly to the top. “Why would he be off limits? I ask because this man of yours is not paying attention enough to you. But do not fret.” He took another hit of pot, tried again to pass me the bong which I refused, and then exhaled with a slow sigh. “Tell me about him…this man who you say loves you so but yet is not here to ward off beautiful French men trying to seduce you.”

  “You are beautiful,” I confessed after another four or so sips. He waved a hand around to indicate that he knew that and to continue. The wine got better with each mouthful. “Khalid loves me it’s just life has gotten between us.”

  René reclined on the couch, propping his feet on my lap, smoking steadily as I drank. After my fifth or sixth glass, I told him the Khalid and Dane story. It sounded a little slurred as I told it, but the sentiment was there even if my pronunciation was a tad sloppy.

  “Hmm.” He mulled, setting the tall glass bong to the floor then taking a languid sip of wine. I glanced up from painting his toenails a crisp apple red. How this had happened was foggy but considering I was soused the pedicure was coming along well. “No, still I say no.”

  “Why are you saying still no?” I enquired, the tiny brush still in my hand.

  “Because, Dane Puppy, this man says he loves you, but does he show he loves you?” Lazy blue eyes studied me while I thought about what he just asked. “I take that quiet mouth to mean you no wishes to speak about my truth.” He sat up to tap my lower lip. I frowned. “This Khalid, who I see is beautiful man…why do you make stupid face?”

  “How do you know he’s beautiful?”

  René held up my phone. Ah. When had I given him my phone? “So, this man is most pretty, and he sweeps up and steals your heart away. But when he has it, does he cherish it? Put it in a fine teakwood box and pet it every day?”

  “That sounds really disturbed.”

  He waved a hand under my nose. “Stop thinking of the disturbed and focus.” Like he had room to talk. Five minutes ago, he was having a vibrant conversation with the yellow and orange birds. “My words are truth. Your man is lazy lover. He knows you love him, and so he now starts to make you low on list.”

  “No, no he doesn’t do that at all.” Something cold hit my thigh. I looked down at my legs and saw that the nail polish was dripping off the brush. Using my index finger, I swirled the droplet around, my hazy mind slowly working over what René was trying to tell me.

  “Yes, Dane Puppy, he does.” He threw his feet to the floor and wiggled in close. “He does all for his religion, for his mama, and for his papa. What does that make you on the list of his most cherished and important things?”

  “But he had to.”

  “No, no.” He took my face between his hands and placed the tip of his upturned nose to mine. His pupils were huge. “A man has to do nothing but die. Your man chooses to move with his mama. He chooses to go to this black box, and he chooses not to see you because he knows he has your love so why should he work for it. He is putting all before you. I would not do this.”

  “But I love him…”

  “Yes, for now. But you will love me too. You will see.” He pressed a kiss to my lips and it stirred something in me. Lust for sure, but also the need to be held and loved as Khalid used to do. I threw my arms around his neck, lapping sloppily at his plump lips. “Pretty boy.” He sighed softly as his fingertips caressed my cheekbones. My stomach heaved sharply. Vomit raced up my throat before I could move or cry out a warning.

  After that things kind of happened in a fuzzy, drunken blur. There was lots of high-pitched cursing in French, water being splashed on my naked body, some kind of hard cookie and a cup of tea forced upon me and falling into a bed with coverings the color of a pansy. My host flittered off, to find some more cookies he said. Even in my bad state, I doubted the man was after cookies unless the French called condoms and lube cookies. I might be a sick, barbaric American, but I knew enough to put a barrier between him and my darling ass.

  When he left, I staggered to the door, locked it, and then fell back into the purple bed. Fatigue pulled me under and I slept deeply despite the rolling profanity that probably peppered me and my ancestors when he found himself locked out of his own bedroom.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The first thing I noticed was the low, dull throb right between my eyes. Next was the paste that someone had obviously poured into my mouth. Lying on my side facing a glowing ball of light, eyes shut because the glowing ball of light made my retinas ache, I tried scraping the paste—which tasted a great deal like sour grapes—from my tongue with my teeth.

  Someone rapped on the door. The sound was a notch above excruciating.

  “Dane Puppy! I need to come in. All my clothes are in there!”

  Somehow I made it to the door, unlocked it, and then tripped over my feet until I was face down in the bedding again.

  “Ah, finally Dane Puppy wakes up.” A gust of wind swirled around the pansy-colored bed, carrying with it the smell of salt air, flowers, cologne, and coffee. The mattress sank on my left. A warm hand fell on the back of my neck. “I have forgiven you for making sick all over me. Also for locking door.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered into the smooth sheet my cheek rested upon.

  “I know you are, sweet puppy. Come and sit up. I have coffee, headache pills, and almond croissants from Le Café du Jardin, that tiny bakery with the blue walls and pink shutters. I love their shutters. Come now, sit up.” He tugged on the nape of my neck. I pushed up into a table position, hands and knees sinking into the mattress, and then kind of collapsed onto my ass, falling to the right with a grunt. “Oh my, you are not so pretty a pup this day.” He patted my scruffy cheek then smiled in understanding. “I too have been like this many times. Here. Take the pills, sip the coffee, and nibble on something sweet.”

  Feeling the ocean breeze on my balls, I hurried to gather a handful of deep purple sheeting to cover my groin.

  “Silly puppy.” René tittered as he tended to sugaring the massive green mugs of coffee on the tray sitting on the bed stand. “No need for shyness. It was me who peeled you out of those disgusting swim trunks and washed your delectable ass in the shower.”

  Shame colored my face. “We didn’t do anything though,” I quickly and firmly stated.

  He gave me a serious side eye as he poured some thick cream into our coffee. His eyes were sharp and clear, blue as the sky outside all the open windows and door. How could he be in such good shape when I was ready to die? The man must have smoked a pound of dope while sucking down a few bottles of Cabernet. I belched a sour tasting burp at the mere thought of wine. I lowered my gaze from his eyes to his slinky lime-colored robe. It hung open, baring his chest which was smooth and free of hair.

  “Dane Puppy, you were so mean to bar me from your sweetness.” He placed the spoon he’d been stirring with to the tray, stood up, and opened his robe. My eyes darted down to his cock, which hung flaccidly down the inside of his thigh. Cut just like Khalid’s but much, much bigger. “Now that you see what you miss, does this loss make you sad?”

  “No.” I averted my gaze as he tied his robe loosely and then sat down beside me, crossing one leg over the other, his well-turned ankles free from bangles and bobs.

  “Such a fib you tell. We make better for the day.” He handed me some coffee and two pills that I eyed warily as they rested in my palm. “Swallow.”

  “What are they?”

  “Headache pills. I am not doping you to have my way. That is not how René finds lovers. You will come to adore me in time. I have no needs of sloppy narcotic man in my bed. Now swallow. I have many plans for us today.” He gave me a firm look over his dainty white mug. I washed the pills down with strong coffee that was much too sweet for my taste. “Good boy.” His blue eyes glimmered with pleasure. “So, I think you leave that hovel hotel you stay in and sleep here with me.”

  I protested loudly, but he steamrolled my objections with a sniff.

  “I paid for a month,” I weakly argued.

  “We will get your money back. Is easy.” He lifted a small glass plate from the tray. I plucked an almond croissant from the platter which got me another smile of contentment. “Then we will go out tonight. There are many places to spend time other than the beach. I watch you for two days, remember?” he said to my wide-eyed look. “You sit on the beach but never swim. Why is this?”

  “I’m scared of water,” I admitted around a bite of flaky, buttery almond perfection.

  “You are?! Oh, poor Dane Puppy.” He patted my kneecap. A gull flew by screeching loudly. “Well, we not do a boat ride then. Scratches that from fun list for two beautiful man lovers.”

  I sniggered a little then swallowed. “We’re not lovers. I have a boyfriend.”

  René pressed his lips together and looked from me to the patio door which stood open. Did no one in Èze ever close their doors? “Yes. About your bad boyfriend…”

  My throat felt horribly dry, and my stomach lurched uneasily. “What about him?”

  He rose from the bed, dramatically, and went to the patio, his back to me, his long elegant body perfectly situated in the doorframe, the air playing with his curls and the sun backlighting his body through the robe.

  “He may have called. We may have spoken.” It took a second for what he said to sink in. I threw the croissant at him. It hit him in the back and fell to the marble floor, making him spin in surprise. “Why do you assault me with an almond croissant?!”

  “You talked to him?” I scrambled from his bed, legs wound in a thin purple coverlet. I nearly went to my face, the only thing saving me from doing so was being able to grab the edge of a large cherry wardrobe. “What did you say?”

  “Throwing foods at your future love is not how we comport ourselves in France,” he scolded as he picked the croissant from the floor. He flung the baked good out the patio door. Gulls descended on it the moment it hit the warm red stones. “I tell him only the truth. That he is a bad boyfriend and that you are sleeping in my bed, cozy warm and safe.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should punch the man in the face or throw up. Since I only had one bite of a croissant in my gut, there wasn’t much to bring up so a fist to his little pug nose it would be as soon as I found my phone and called Khalid back.

  “Oh put that fist down. You are not going to hit me. I am too lovely,” René stated from the doorway as I battled to free myself from his sheets and covers. “I tell him nothing but the truth, Dane Puppy. He is bad to leave you alone because you are virile young man with needs.”

  I shook my fingers out of the fist I hadn’t even realized I’d made. “Where is my phone?”

  René pointed at the bedroom door. “In the laundry room off of the kitchen on top of your clean trunks.” I stalked out of the bedroom, slammed through the living room terribly startling the birds in the cage, and then took several wrong turns until I found the kitchen. It was a small kitchen but fitted with modern appliances, which looked as if they’d never been used. A pantry sat behind one soft yellow door and the laundry room behind another.

  “Fucker,” I growled as I jammed my feet into my trunks, my head pounding now. I called Khalid, my hands shaking, my breath uneven, and padded back into the kitchen with my phone to my ear. “Please answer. Please answer.” I hadn’t heard his voice for over two weeks. Seems cell service is spotty on a journey to Mecca. “Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up.”

  He did, fourteen rings later. Had he just now found his phone, or had he stood there, looking at it, debating if he wanted to speak to me or not?

  “I’m amazed you could find time to call me what with your new French lover and all.” His voice was flat, bitterly cold. My hip found a counter, thank God because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand properly right now.