Chapter 1

1

The dipshit woman next to me, wearing Prada and carrying Gucci and what all, had so much makeup on, I thought she might be a drag queen. She had a service animal with her, a big dog that looked expensive. She doted on it. She shared her meal with it.

I’m never in first class. This was the first and only, and as it turned out, last time I’ve ever been there. I hated this part of my job. I’m a fifty-five-year-old gay man who looks it. I can’t help it. I’m sorry, but the stereotype had to come from somewhere. My name is Bruce, and, no, I’m never going to change it to Caitlyn. I have three cats at home, and I do not like dogs. Especially big ones who are obviously not well-trained enough to be true service dogs. If this one was an emotional service dog, I had to wonder, being the stereotypical bitch that I am, what service he provided this woman.

I’d been beaten up on the job site and was limping, aching, and bruised. It was a company problem, and they tried to make it up to me with this first-class seat. Maybe it was a nice gesture, or maybe I’d quit. I could. I didn’t need the money. Just before I’d left the hospital, such as it was in the third world, I’d been given a battery of shots and boosters, including typhus, typhoid, whooping cough, and tetanus. Like I didn’t have enough holes in me already from being kicked and punched.

Halfway home, my seatmate (the woman) said, “Romeo would like to sit by the window. He’d like you to change seats with him. He was bitten by a monkey on our tour, and it’s been bothering him.” She raised one haughty eyebrow and looked daggers at me. Romeo, huh. “I am Juliet Lascagna. Perhaps you’ve heard of my perfume and ladies’ skin care product line.”

“Bruce Delany, ha…ni…hello,” I got out, unable to pronounce either happy or nice to meet her. “And—no.”

“Well, I never!” She looked around for a servant, I mean, flight attendant. She actually snapped her fingers, or claws, as they were. Romeo was asleep, half on her lap, a tail whapping on my food tray, hair all over, drooling, and occasionally, sneezing.

It was a nightmare.

A flight attendant showed up. He was young and beautiful with blond hair hanging in his eyes. I wanted to take him home with me. I wondered if he knew nursing. Anyway, Juliet ordered a double scotch on the rocks, and the boy looked across at me and winked.

“And you, sir?”

Oh, shizzle. I wanted a drink so bad. “I can’t,” I blurted. “I’m on drugs.” I meant antibiotics, but that’s not what came out.

“A hot cup of tea?” he murmured. “Coffee, perhaps?”

I nodded. “Either.” I almost barked it, but I didn’t have to because Romeo woke up, barked, growled, and sneezed again. I hoped I’d never see either her or the dog again. The flight attendant, though…I gave him my charge card, my business card, a large tip, and a warm smile.

Six hours later, in the middle of a storm, we landed in Seattle. The two dogs, er, owner and mutt, left. I stayed behind because, with my limp and the cane the hospital had given me, I wasn’t going to be walking very fast.

The flight attendant, whose name I noticed was Burk, came by and said, “I’ll get you a wheelchair. You’ll feel a lot better that way.” What a beautiful smile he had, and perfect skin.

I know I sound like an old pervert, but young people are so pretty nowadays. Did we ever look like that?

As the plane emptied, he got my bag down from the overhead, my cane out of the storage bin, and sat beside me for a few minutes. He’d already ordered the wheelchair. “You were very nice about having to sit next to that giant service dog,” he said. “I’ll see you to the cab line or to whoever is picking you up.”

“Son,” I said. “I live at the top of Capitol Hill. There are forty-three steps up to my front door and sixteen more inside. I have three empty bedrooms. I’d pay for you to come home with me and carry my luggage and possibly myself up all those damn stairs.” Then I blurted, “And, yes, I’m gay. I’m a gay old man who likes other men, and you look delicious, but I’m also very well-behaved and never take what isn’t mine, even if it’s offered.”

There, I’d just cut my throat, hadn’t I?

But he smiled. “I’ll do it. I have a two-week layover here, and I’d be staying at a hostel in town. I’ll be glad to help you out. When that woman and dog first got on the plane, we played rock, paper, scissors to see who had to deal with her, and I lost. But you were so polite, it really helped. I’m actually afraid of dogs. And monkeys. I’m also scared of monkeys.”

I smiled and gave this comment no further thought, although, as it turned out, maybe I should have.