Vestige

Chapter Three



“Bennett.”



Caleb scrubbed at his face and eased back in his swivel chair, looking at the woman in his doorway with mild irritation. Nothing against her personally, of course, but if he was ever going to finish the editorial by the deadline he’d need all the peace and quiet he could get. Again, not that it made much of a difference, he had been staring at his legal pad with a pen clamped between his teeth for two hours, and so far didn’t have so much as an opening statement.



“Sorry to disturb you,” the woman said. She was a small woman with large breasts and wide hips. Her dark hair was pulled back in a perpetual bun, always with a few wisps flying free over her brow and eyes. Caleb thought that if he wanted a woman, Rachel King would be the one he went for. “But I needed to know what your stance is on the proposal by the governor to cut pay raises for city employees for the third year in a row.”



Caleb frowned, “Why the hell should my opinion matter, King?”



“I just---”



“Word of advice,” Caleb told her, “And I’m not saying this to sound like an asshole. Never go to another journalist and ask their advice on a story. Not only does it show a lack of competency and independence, but it just leaves you open for having your story gutted before it’s even printed. We’re vicious that way. If we thought you had a good angle on a story, we’d pounce all over you until we got it.”



Rachel’s face fell, her eyes losing their demure shine and turning oddly flat. She nodded and turned to leave. Caleb, in what could only be expressed as a sign of weakness towards the fairer sex, even if he did not indulge in intimacy with them, called her back.



“I think he’s an asshole,” Caleb told her matter-of-factly. “And you want to know who the bigger assholes are? The people that write in to this paper complimenting him on how well he’s studied in the asshole arts. These people need their raises, and based on the city budgeting I’ve glimpsed at, there’s ample money to give them. This is a game of politics, King, not budgeting. Calvert knows how the public feels about all of these raises. If I were you I’d play that up a little bit. Really drive it up his ass.”



Rachel smiled, and when she did that, she looked young and fresh. She was young and fresh, actually. Still in mint condition, right out of college. Caleb took some pity on her, he had been there once himself. “Thank you, Bennett,” she told him, pretty Spanish eyes wandering away from his face like a shy school girl. Caleb wondered where those eyes come from; obviously her mother’s side, given the last name. He checked the ring finger of her left hand and found it bereft of all jewelry. Definitely her mother’s side.



“A few of us are going out after work to have a few drinks,” Rachel said with sudden courage, forcing her eyes back to his face. “If you’d like to join us.”



Poor kid. He should have known earlier that she had a crush on him; but he had been too preoccupied with work and thoughts of Jason to pay her much mind. He smiled at her, summoning up his best shiteater grin, hoping to dissuade her without being too harsh. “No, thank you,” Caleb told her, “I’ve got a lot of work to do. Maybe some other time.”



“Oh, alright. Thanks again, Bennett.”



Caleb lifted his hand to her as she left, turning back to his legal pad with its surprising lack of words. He sighed and stuck the pencil back between his teeth, nibbling on the end as he tried to summon some kind of coherent thought into his brain.



A half hour later, there were words on the pad:



Milk

Butter

Bread

Condoms



Condoms?



Caleb grinned and stuck his pencil in the cup on his desk. Yeah, fuck it.



Condoms.







He let the doorbell ring and hoped that whoever was trying to raise him from the dead eventually gave up. No such luck. When the doorbell seemed to have failed, the person at his door began to knock, loudly. Caleb groaned and rolled out of bed, crossing his small apartment in slow, lumbering steps. His curls were tightly matted and tangled with sleep, his body covered with only a t-shirt and boxers. He didn’t bother throwing anything on; in his current condition, attempting to maneuver into a pair of pants would have been an act of suicide.



He opened the door a few inches and peeked out, the chain still attached and allowing only one eye to see out on his front step. He expected it to be Felix, which was why his heart sunk a little when he found his sister standing there in her tailored pantsuit and expensive pumps. She was looking around as though she expected some horrible person to rip her back from the door and slit her throat.



“Dotty?”



“Caleb. Let me in.”



Caleb stepped back and released the chain, unlocking the door and letting his sister inside. Dorothy passed a hand through her black curls, looking around the apartment critically. Caleb knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth. “I haven’t had a chance to clean in a while.”



Dorothy lifted the lid on a pizza box strewn on the coffee table and grimaced, “So I see.”



“What’d you want, Dot?”



“Well,” Dorothy began stiffly, turning to him. Her face was hard and there was a slight twitch in her jaw, which meant she had come to apologize. For Dorothy Bennett, apologies came rarely and were like digging through a mountain with a spoon; tiring and painful.



She had been the first child of Michael Bennett, that cavalier of business, born to an Italian actress their father had married and then divorced a few years later. That explained her dark features and Mediterranean eyes; it also explained why no one believed he and Dorothy were siblings, even with the last name. Fifteen years older, Dorothy had had a hand in raising Caleb, and she showed it with her critical eye and matronly habits, wandering around his apartment and tidying up as she spoke to him.



“I wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday,” Dorothy told him, and he could tell she was speaking through gritted teeth, even with her back to him. “I didn’t think you’d be so sensitive about it.” In typical Dorothy fashion, she had added an insult to her apology. Caleb couldn’t help but smile; she was just too much sometimes.



“A person can only have their life shit on for so long before they just get sick of it,” Caleb told her wryly.



“What I meant was… You know how I am, Caleb. You know how sometimes I, I just don’t think before I speak.” She sighed and rested a hand on her hip, looking at him seriously. That stance meant that she was either about to jump into another lecture, or just let the whole thing drop. She was a confusing lady; but then, most ladies he had known were confusing.



“Let’s just forget the whole thing.”



“That’s fine with me, Dotty.”



Dorothy sat down on the sofa, mouth twisting a little as she had to move aside piled up newspapers. “I came by last night to talk to you,” she told him, “But you weren’t here.” There was a question under that statement, somewhere. Something along the lines of, What were you up to last night, Caleb Bennett? What trouble were you getting into?



“I was out with… a friend last night.”



“Oh, I see,” Dorothy murmured, and there was a small smile on her face as she purposefully kept her eyes off of him. “Does this friend happen to be of the fairer or more rugged sex?”



Jeez. “He’s a guy.”



“And what is the dear boy’s name?”



“Felix Morales.”



Dorothy’s smile curled up, her eyes flicking to him briefly. “I hope you showed him a good time last night. He kept you out awfully late.”



That upset him a little; he didn’t like being interrogated like some criminal, nor did he enjoy the mean glee in her voice.



“We went out to a bar, had a couple drinks,” Caleb evaded, walking into the kitchen and putting on some coffee. He honestly didn’t want to discuss Felix with Dorothy. She would not like a man who wore flip-flops or played his guitar on the street; she would not appreciate the romance of him, the free bohemian pleasure of him. She would gawk at him like some common bum and dissect him with her sharp tongue. “No big deal.”



“Does he work, or did you pay his way like you did that painter of yours?”



Caleb felt his heart quiver with the thoughtless cruelty of the words. Warmth touched his eyes, and he refused to look up at her as she wandered into the kitchen and sat at the table. He studied the sunlight slanting in through the window, and was crippled by a memory of his painter, standing there in the window with his hands soapy with dishwater. Caleb recalled slipping behind him and hugging his lean body, smelling the sweetness of him, feeling the firm, comforting reality of him. Jason had pressed back to him, and they had made love there on the counter, frantic and frenzied.



“He works at a bookstore,” Caleb heard himself saying, his voice seeming to come from some great distance. “The one I always go to.”



Dorothy had never cared for his lover. She had referred to him only as ‘the boy’, and refused to speak of him further than that. Once, when she had been over and Jason had been painting in the living room, she had quipped that his work reminded her of something a three year old would do with their fingers. Caleb had been forced to step between them, before Jason had hauled off and attacked her. He had been a sweet, quiet man, but once provoked, he had been aggressive and combative.



He knew she had disliked the man, and there had been no tears shed when she had heard that Jason had left him; but she was his sister, he expected at least a little sympathy from her, a little understanding. “Well, at least he has a job,” Dorothy finally said, dubiously, as though she were disappointed. “The boy…”



“Jason,” Caleb growled.



“Jason. He was no good for you, really. All he did was paint and wander around the house. There was nothing there.”



Caleb sighed and bit his lip, mercifully distracted by his coffee maker’s loud beeping. He poured himself a cup and sat down at the table, morosely looking away from his sister’s face, letting his gaze continue to stare out the window. Jason had told him when they had first started living together how much he loved his kitchen. It was big and sunny and perfect for cat naps. Perhaps the man had been a little lazy, but he had also been warm, and funny, and charming. To say that he hadn’t been good for him… She had no idea what she was talking about.



“So tell me about him.”



“There’s not much to tell. He just works at the bookstore and plays music.” He wasn’t going to tell her that Felix Morales set his body on fire and made his heart gallop and his palms sweat. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell her that he and Felix had exchanged spit the previous night. Or that when he had gotten home from kissing his mouth and grinding against his body, Caleb had masturbated feverishly, crying out the man’s name as he climaxed.



“The problem with musicians,” Dorothy began, and Caleb steeled himself for her biting criticism, ready to bite his tongue. He didn’t want a repeat of yesterday morning. “Is that none of them are worth much. They lounge around and play their instruments and sing their songs, but what good is that to you, Caleb? You’re a journalist, why do you always go for these, these vagrants?”



“You’ve never even met him,” Caleb snapped defensively, knowing the moment the words were out of his mouth they were a mistake. He wished he could have one conversation with his sister where they didn’t end up bickering. But she had always been this way, and he knew she couldn’t change. They had drawn their battle lines years before, and they were both too stubborn to back down. “You don’t know a damn thing about him and you’re gonna sit there and tell me he’s no good? You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve.”



Dorothy gave him a small, secret smile. “Uh-oh.”



“What?,” he growled.



“You’re in love.”



Caleb gaped at her, genuinely knocked speechless. He felt like someone had just punched him square in his solar-plexus, his breath catching for a moment. That was impossible, it was ludicrous, he had just met the man. There was no way he could love him already. There was no way he could even begin to love a man who teased and mocked and drove him wild with so many conflicting emotions. There was no possible way that he had already fallen in love with Felix Morales.



“I don’t… I can’t…”



“Oh, honey, it’s not up to you,” Dorothy told him, laughing a little. Before long, she had her head thrown back and her laughter was filling the kitchen. Caleb joined her helplessly, at first just chuckling and shaking his head, and then howling with his forehead on the table and tears of happiness and sorrow and frustration running down his face.







“Call me,” Dorothy told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Caleb turned and left his own against her cheek before pulling back from her. Things between them had always been awkward. Caleb had grown up in a conservative house with a greedy, socially heartless, tyrant of a father. He had grown up with a liberal soul; devoting most of his teenage years to environmentalism and equal rights. He had spearheaded a boycott against his father his Senior year of high school actually, protesting his usage of environmentally harmful energy consumption and his refusal to employ women.



Dorothy had stood up for him against their father, but she had never found a way to stand beside him. Caleb supposed he should just be grateful she had erected a barrier between him and his old man.



“I will. Let me walk you to your car, Dotty.”



She accepted humbly, slipping her arm through his and letting him escort her down the stairs and out to her car. It was a muggy evening, just a few minutes outside and his shirt was already sticking to his back. Dorothy opened her door, but paused before stepping inside. She studied his face in the fiery sunlight, her critical eyes oddly soft as she looked at him.



“If he means something to you, I’ll try my best to accept him,” Dorothy told him, “I might be a bitch, but I love you, Caleb. I really do. I want to see you happy.”



Caleb could have sworn his heart had gone through all the emotional ranges it could possibly explore in the last twenty-four hours. But just that simple admission from his sister, spoken in a voice that was gentle and warm, made his heart tighten and his eyes, for the second time that day, brim with sudden tears. “I know that,” Caleb said, blinking back the wetness in his eyes, “I love you too, Dotty.”



“Goodnight, Caleb.”



She climbed into her car and drove away, leaving Caleb there alone. He looked after her until her car disappeared over the hill, and then wandered slowly back inside. He could not remember a night where he had been so content and peaceful, where he had not felt the pressure of his loneliness. Most of the thanks went to Felix; but Dorothy deserved some of the credit, as well. She had a way of picking him up when he was at his lowest, even if her method was slightly harsh.







He looked at his legal pad, knowing he should sit down and focus; knowing that there was no way he could as he drifted into the kitchen and picked up the phone.



“Hello?”



“Felix.” Caleb almost sighed his name, resting his head against the wall and feeling his body melt a little just at the sound of his voice.



“Caleb?”



“Yeah, it’s me,” Caleb murmured. “You told me to think about you, and I have been. A lot.”



“Mm, I’ve been thinking about you too,” Felix told him, his voice going a little husky. Caleb could imagine him in his studio apartment, letting his body sink slowly down to the floor as they spoke, his head tilted back and that sweet line of his throat exposed.



“Felix,” Caleb whispered, “Felix, I want to see you.”



“Friday, Friday,” Felix reminded him. “Be patient, querido.”



He had been alone for so long, and Felix was just as lonely as he was; why were they playing these games with each other when it was obvious they wanted each other so desperately? He had been waiting for someone like Felix for a long time, possibly before his sweet painter. Someone sexy and charming and free-spirited. Someone who would take his hands and pull him into a world of laughter, of pleasure, of uncertainty. Caleb felt he needed that in his life, he needed to wake up and not know what he was doing or where he was going. There was something terrifyingly wonderful about that.



“I need you,” Caleb told him, and there was none of his suave confidence, none of his assured ease; he was barren of all such things. He sounded and felt desperate.



“You want me,” Felix replied patiently. Caleb could hear the smile in his voice, and a small corner of his heart resented the man for that. “You don’t need me, Caleb. You need what you think I could give to you. I’m not here for you to live vicariously through me. Know me, Caleb, learn me. And then talk to me about need.”



Caleb sighed in frustration, wishing that he could throttle the man and kiss his mouth raw and touch his dark, delicious body. So overcome with hate and love that he felt sick from it.



“You’re a sweet man,” Felix told him softly, “But I can look into your eyes and see the pain in them. I can listen to your voice and know there’s still something - someone - keeping you tied down. I want to know how courageous you are, Caleb Bennett. I want to see how strong you are.” Caleb could almost feel Felix’s smile relax, going gentle and nurturing with his voice. “I’ll help you, miel, any way that I can. But first you have to make the effort.”



“The effort,” Caleb murmured.



“To let go of him.”



The tears came with sudden force, and he was helpless now to blink them back. He slid down the wall and onto his knees, cradling the phone against his chest briefly as he tried to compose himself. That damn painter had ruined him, had reduced him to this, and he wished that he had never met him. But Caleb understood, even down there on his knees, that the man had done nothing to him. Caleb had been selfish, had tried to make the man into something he wasn’t. He had tried to turn him into something that he had felt he needed in his life, though he still had no idea what he needed.



“Felix,” Caleb frantically whispered into the phone, unable to open his eyes against the burn of his tears. “Why are you doing this to me?”



“Because I care about you,” Felix told him, and the sincerity of his words was like cold water down Caleb’s back. “I don’t want to watch you hurt yourself. If anything is going to happen between us, you’ve got to get stronger. You’ve got to deal with it. I can’t be a replacement for someone, Caleb. I don’t have the heart for it.”



The man had known him for a day, and already he seemed to be able to read Caleb like an open book. There was something frightening about the speed in which Felix had learned him, but there was also something liberating. Caleb had not known he needed someone to pick him up from the floor and shake him by the shoulders and tell him that everything he had been doing with himself was a mistake; until Felix had come along.



That was the moment where he truly began to wonder if he and Felix had been made for each other. In some cosmic sense, they were a horrible match. Caleb was serious, orderly, and demanded control. Felix was a vagrant, wandering around laughing; seemed to be able to let go easily, to surrender to his own thoughts and feelings.



On some deeper level, they were perfect for each other. Felix understood him, accepted him, and wanted to help him. Caleb did not accept help easily, but there was no way he could deny the man. No words he could find that would cease his overflowing compassion. “Friends,” Caleb said softly, “Isn’t that what you wanted to be?”



“Yes,” Felix told him. “To a man like you, friendship means something different. Friendship means sharing a drink and laughing about work. Friendship means sitting on the sofa together and watching old movies. But to me, friendship is limitless. Friendship is the only thing that matters, but it isn’t the only thing there is. I could make love with you, Caleb, and be your friend. You could hold me and kiss me and put your hands on me, and be my friend. Friendship isn’t delicate.”



Caleb smiled, “Always a philosopher. Does this mean you still want to see me Friday?”



“Yeah, I want to see you. I want to see you bad, Caleb. You’re not the only one about to explode, here.”



“Felix.”



“Mm?”



“I… thank you,” Caleb mumbled, “Thank you for, being a friend to me.”



Felix laughed softly, and it was the loveliest sound Caleb had ever heard. “Not a problem. Get some sleep now. I didn’t mean to be so hard on you.”



“I think I needed it.”



“So do I,” Felix told him, “But I want to be good to you.”



Caleb didn’t have the heart to tell him, not then, that he was the best thing that could have ever happened to him. That he was the first person to ever truly be good to him; to be good for him.