Love Revisited Page 2

  Part Two

  Morning found them still tangled together, clinging to each other as though even in sleep they couldn't stand to be apart. A particularly loud slam! as somebody shut the trunk of their car prior to leaving jolted both of them awake.

  "Fucking cheap-ass motel," Shane muttered, then woke up enough to give Erik a searching look. "Still happy to be here?"

  "What the fuck, man?"

  Erik glared.

  Shane's heart stopped.

  Then Erik busted out laughing. "Oh, the look on your face! That was priceless!"

  "Glad you enjoyed it," Shane growled. He contemplated thumping Erik with a pillow, but settled for kissing him, instead.

  "To answer your question," Erik said, a long, breathless moment later, "yes. Completely happy to be here. Willing to have many, many more mornings just like this one."

  "Without the heart failure, please."

  Erik smiled wickedly. "I wouldn't go that far. Got to keep you on your toes, after all."

  "God help me, what have I gotten myself into?"

  "Love," Erik replied simply, then they were kissing again. But more assorted thumps, bangs, and vehicle starts interrupted them, the sounds of a cheap motel near the intersection of two major interstate highways early in the morning.

  "Such a romantic place you've got here," Erik grumbled, as a car with a bad starter made its fifth grinding attempt to achieve life.

  "So take me away from here." Shane smoothed tangled strands of hair away from Erik's eyes. "Take me somewhere we can forget all the bad shit in the world, and enjoy each other."

  Erik smiled and caught at his hand. "How about I take you to breakfast, instead? I've gotten back into the habit of eating regularly."

  "Good enough for me," Shane said, then rolled out of bed and into his jeans. "Seen my shirt around anywhere?"

  Erik stretched and ran a hand down his spine, leaving a trail of shivery gooseflesh behind. "Look on top of the lamp."

  Shane laughed. Sure enough, the shirt lay draped over the bedside lampshade. "Of course. I should've known. Don't all people store their clothes on the lighting fixtures?"

  "Nah, only the people that are fun to be around."

  "Look at you," Shane said, shirt in one hand, smiling. Erik sprawled across the bed, looking supremely content. "You look like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. Did you really think life would be better if you walked out that door?"

  "Not a bit," Erik replied, shaking his head slowly. "I thought life would be sensible, predictable, and boring, utterly devoid of magic and love."

  "Well, that's not what you'll get with me." Shane ditched his shirt and tangled his hands in Erik's hair, kissing him. Erik held him close for a long, sensual moment of pure pleasure, then pushed him away.

  "Not now. Food now. Then we'll figure something out. Okay?"

  Shane laughed, but let himself get pushed. "If you say so. Your body might have other ideas."

  "My body thinks food is a damn good option right about now." Erik looked at him a moment longer, eyes glowing with rekindled love, then sat up and started hunting his own clothes.

  They managed to get dressed and gather up all Shane's stuff without fooling around any more. Shane looked over the crappy motel room carefully, scene of so much solitary misery over the last several months, then laid the key on the small table between those lousy gold chairs.

  "Looks like that's everything," he said, hefting his big green duffel bag. Erik held his guitar, of course. He always took charge of the instruments.

  "Come on, then. Let's see what the future holds."

  "It can throw anything it likes at me, as long as you're there to face it by my side."

  Erik smiled as they walked out the door. "I will be. Leaving you twice is more than my willpower can handle."

  "Good."

  They threw the duffel and the guitar in the Plymouth's capacious trunk, then one more big engine shattered the morning with its starting roar.

  "This is the worst possible time to head into the city," Shane said, as they crept onto the expressway.

  "I know. But we've got to go that way if you want to see Ms. Dunraven."

  "Which I do," Shane nodded. "Since you were kind enough to tell me I've been an idiot and let Kirby screw me. Without any KY, even."

  Erik snorted. "Fucker. Bet he got the others, too. But the lawyer will hang him out to dry. She's already got him cringing and grovelling, trying to avoid getting hauled into court. Or arrested."

  "You haven't sued him yet?"

  "Lawsuit's ready to go, but they're negotiating. There's a chance for an out of court settlement."

  "Cool. Hey, there's a good breakfast place," and Shane pointed at the sign for a familiar restaurant, Poppin' Fresh Pies.

  "A pie place?"

  "Yeah. Trust me."

  "I already got over, didn't I?"

  "So you did."

  The place was crowded, not surprising in the least to Shane. At least it wasn't a Sunday. He'd made the mistake of going to this place once on a Sunday and had to wait almost an hour for a seat, smelling everyone else's tasty breakfasts. Bad idea.

  But the wait today was only about ten minutes, and that was nothing.

  By the time they'd eaten, the traffic outside had eased up to a far more reasonable level.

  "That worked out well," Shane commented as they got back on the now-moving expressway.

  "Indeed. And you were right. Good place for breakfast."

  This attempt got them all the way into downtown. On the way, Shane sought out a familiar landmark, and waved when he spotted it.

  "What are you waving at?"

  "It's good luck to say hi to Happy."

  "Happy?"

  "Yeah. Look out there," and Shane pointed off to the west, where a bright yellow water tower sported a smiley face.

  Erik cracked up. "Somebody painted a smiley face on the fucking water tower?"

  "Yeah. A few years back." Shane grinned. "Don't know if the town council was dropping acid, or what, but I like Happy."

  Still snickering, Erik waved into the rearview mirror. "Bye, Happy!"

  The good luck worked for him, too. Erik found a tremendously convenient spot to stash the car in a gigantic parking garage, right next to the elevator, and led the way outside, across the street, and into one of the innumerable skyscrapers inhabiting downtown Chicago.

  Ms. Betsy Dunraven laired on the thirty-seventh floor, in an unpretentious inner office suite with a small waiting room and a secretary.

  "Can I help you?"

  "We don't have an appointment," Erik told her, as the secretary gave him a disapproving look over pink, almost teardrop-shaped glasses. "I'm Erik Mac Rae. Can you see if Ms. Dunraven will see us?"

  "One moment, please." The secretary picked up the phone, pushed a button, then spoke quietly into it. When she hung up, she smiled at them in a much more friendly way. "Ms. Dunraven will see you. Just go right in."

  Shane smiled to himself when he first saw the lawyer. She was one of those people that would have made his grandma sniff disapprovingly and mutter something about short hair and sensible shoes.

  "Good morning, Erik," she said, setting aside a manila file folder. "I'm glad you dropped by. Saves me having to call you later in the day."

  "Do you have good news for me?" Erik asked, as they sat in the chairs opposite the lawyer.

  "I might." She gave Shane a significant look. "Who's this? Is he privy to your affairs?"

  Erik smiled. "He will be soon enough. Betsy Dunraven, meet Shane Haggerty, one of the founding members of the band Luna Sea. I brought him with me because he is in dire need of your services as well."

  "I see." The lawyer smiled. "Well, Mr. Haggerty, it's good to meet you. Am I correct in assuming Mr. Kirby has kept you from accessing your rightful earnings?"

  "Yes, he has," Shane said, around a sudden surge of anger. Yesterday he'd been too off-balance and disconcerted to really think about the information Erik had given
him. But today, with Erik willingly by his side and in the steady fluorescent lights of a downtown skyscraper, it suddenly became very real. He'd been screwed. "What do I need to do to fix that?"

  "You've come to the right place. As I was about to tell Erik, your former manager is finally ready to negotiate. He utterly cracked under pressure just yesterday, Erik. It was your willingness to press criminal charges with the police that did it. He's turned over the full amount plus damages. It's in escrow now."

  "Wonderful! And you'll contact my accountant with the details? As well as arranging your fee, of course."

  "Yes. It will all be taken care of within two days."

  Erik shot an excited grin towards Shane. "Hear that? Finally! Some benefit from being a rock star!"

  Shane grinned back, then turned his attention to the lawyer and got down to some serious business, only to hit a bump in the road almost immediately.

  "Um. . . Sorry. I don't have an address."

  Ms. Dunraven blinked. "Whyever not?"

  "I've been living in a motel room," Shane confessed. "It was all I could afford. I checked out this morning, and haven't yet figured out where I'll be by tonight."

  "Well." She sat back in her rolling chair and gave him a contemplative look. "Perhaps I can do something for you in that department as well, and you can do me a favor. I already know, based on reading Erik's contract with the record label, that your missing funds will be equal to or greater than his. Would you be interested in renting my Lakeview house? You can certainly afford it. It's a bit of a mess right now, needs cleaning and a new paint job, but I'll waive the deposit and the first month's rent if you'll do the work. The last tenant was an artist, and had appalling taste. The house is in Boystown, but that shouldn't be a problem, right?"

  "Not a problem." Shane shook his head, then blinked rapidly several times as his mind struggled to deal with the sudden change in direction. "Seriously? A house in Lakeview? I'll have that much money?"

  "Yes. It may not get into your account for a few weeks, but I know the funds will equal or exceed Erik's royalties, and his funds are more than sufficient to cover the rent on the house, plus living expenses, for a very long time."

  "A Lakeview house," Shane said, mostly to himself. "Boystown." Then he grinned. "When can we move in?"

  So they added a renter's agreement to the paperwork, and Ms. Dunraven dug keys out of a safe hiding behind a painting of pears in a sunlit basket.

  They left the office a short while later, with Shane clutching the written directions to the Lakeview house and grinning like a lunatic.

  "Well, Mr. Smiley, want to go meet my accountant?"

  Shane grinned at him. "A house in Lakeview!"

  Erik laughed. "That's not the answer I was looking for."

  "I know, sorry. Trying to get used to the idea of being rich. Guess I'll finally have something to show for that platinum album we put out." He held up the keys and admired them. A combination of bland, modern keys and more ornate old-fashioned keys glittered and clanked on their ring. "See? They're real! Even the funky old ones. By all means, I want to meet your accountant!"

  "That's more like it. Come on, then, this way. He's in the same building."

  "Now that's good planning."

  "Not really. I was nervous the first time I went to see the lawyer, and read all the names on the directory downstairs before I made it into the elevator. The accounting firm on the twentieth floor stuck in my mind, so I stopped there on the way out. And now we can do the same."

  The stop at the accountant's office was a good bit less exciting than the trip to the lawyer's. Shane had no financial affairs to speak of on his own, not even a bank account, and only a little over two hundred dollars to his name, product of lots of hard work and saving. But Erik's accountant, Miles Savage, was perfectly willing to handle all the details of setting up accounts and managing the money when it came in. All it took was mentioning that Ms. Dunraven would be contacting him later that day about Erik's funds and the preliminary details of Shane's case. He became very friendly, at that point.

  "That was absolutely amazing," Shane said, as they walked through the brisk breeze coming off Lake Michigan. "I never in a million years thought I'd have a good time visiting a lawyer and an accountant."

  Erik laughed. "Wait till you see what Ms. Dunraven does for you."

  "I can hardly wait."

  They reached the car and Erik got it started, then looked at Shane. "Okay, last chance. We really going to make a go of this? Move in together, whole nine yards?"

  "Do you really need to ask that?" Shane raised an eyebrow. He hoped the sudden lurch and dive maneuver his heart had done at those words didn't show on his face.

  "Well, yeah. I mean, what if you changed your mind?"

  "Then I wouldn't be here in your car with you," Shane pointed out. "I'd have gotten my duffel and my guitar out of your trunk and headed for the L. Of course I want to give us another shot."

  Erik grinned, relief spreading through his entire body in a visible wave. "Just checking. Let's go get my stuff, then, before we go see this amazing Lakeview house. By the way, what's Boystown? As if I can't guess."

  "One of the oldest gay communities in the country, the setting for many wild nights of my youth," Shane replied, sinking back into the springy embrace of the Plymouth. "Erik, do you really have to give me multiple heart attacks on the same day?"

  "Relax, it's good for you," Erik said absently, maneuvering the car's big butt backwards out of the parking spot.

  "That's not what the American Heart Association says."

  "Aw, what do they know?"

  They headed back to the mellow lands of Oak Park, and walked straight into a problem. Shane looked at the humble white house with black trim, where he'd stood with his heart in his throat on the front porch just yesterday, with a sense of unreality. He wondered if he was about to wake up and find out the past day had all been just a dream. Or maybe he was really still standing on the porch, about to knock, indulging in an elaborate fantasy before he made the attempt to speak to Erik.

  Then Erik touched his hand, and broke him out of the strange thoughts.

  "Hey. If I say anything crazy in there, back me up, okay? My mom doesn't know we were ever anything other than friends."

  "Sure thing."

  They went into the house, and Erik tracked down his mother. She was in the kitchen, making bread.

  "Uh-oh," he muttered, when he spotted the cloud of flour. Mom making bread was never a good sign. She did that to relieve stress. "Hi, Mom."

  "So you decided to come back."

  Great. Totally pissed. She didn't even bother to turn around, just kept kneading at a doughball.

  "Yeah. Ran into my old friend Shane. You remember, from the band? Been catching up on everything that's happened."

  That got her to turn around. She gave Shane a distinctly unfriendly look.

  "Yes, of course I remember. You're the one that got my son hooked on drugs."

  "Uh. . ."

  "Mom!"

  "What are you doing here, in my house? Were the two of you out all night partying? Did you get high together? Is that it?"

  "Absolutely not," Erik said. "And by the way, I'm moving out. C'mon, Shane."

  Erik tried not to stomp as he led the way to his room. The old house tended to boom very loudly when one did such a thing, and he certainly didn't want to come across as a kid having a temper tantrum. He was twenty-six, for crying out loud, he could do as he damn well pleased!

  "Holy shit, man," Shane said, when they reached his room. "Think she's pissed."

  Erik opened his closet and fished out his duffel, twin to Shane's. For the first time since he'd left the band, remembering the day they'd bought the things didn't hurt.

  "Yeah. Might have to make this quick. Good thing I don't have much. Here, start stuffing clothes in this, would you? I have to pack up all my instruments."

  "How many you got in here, anyway?" Shane pulled a dresser drawer
open and started filling the bag.

  "Lots," Erik grinned.

  Then his mom arrived. She'd evidently taken the time to wash her hands and arms clean of the flour.

  "What do you mean, you're moving out?"

  "Just that, Mom. Shane and I used to be roommates, and now he's back, so we're going to be roommates again. You know I've started looking for a place. Well, now I've got one."

  Twelve string acoustic guitar first. He tucked it into its case quickly and efficiently. Tiger-striped electric he'd played on tour. Don't forget the amp cords. And the little amp itself. Just his personal one, made for playing at home, not one of the big monsters from the stage shows. Celtic lap harp. . . shit. No case. He wrapped it in a sweater. Autoharp, safe in its case already. Ferociously expensive violin, likewise safely encased. Roughly fifty pounds of sheet music, boxed up beside the violin, glaring at him with mute reproach that said he should practice more etudes.

  "You don't need to go," his mother said.

  "Yes, I do, Mom. I'm a big boy now."

  He gave the hammered dulcimer a dirty look. The thing weighed a ton, and if he detuned it for travel he'd be fiddling with it for hours trying to tune it again. He'd always suspected that was why he'd found the thing on a curb waiting for the trash collectors. Someone detuned it, and didn't want to go through the torment of re-tuning the stringy bastard. No, just pack it up. They weren't going far, it'd be fine.

  Shane ran out of drawers before he ran out of room in the bag. He looked in the closet and found more clothes hanging neatly on hangers. So he started putting those in, trying to keep the shirts and things as close to flat and unwrinkled as possible. Then he saw what the sweaters were hiding.

  "Erik! My Minimoog!"

  There in the closet, all set up and waiting for him, was his treasured favorite synthesizer. He touched it to confirm it was real, then turned shining eyes to his lover.

  "How did you get this? I thought it was gone for good!"