The Art of Three Read online

  At the dock Jamie’s father met him at the same spot he always did when Jamie came home. Hugh Conway, like Jamie, wasn’t a tall man. Also like Jamie, he was all sturdy arms and broad shoulders. His brown hair, now turned mostly gray, was tucked under his knit cap. When he pulled Jamie into a rib-crunching hug, Jamie inhaled the smell of damp wool and the clean air of home.

  “Glad you made it, Jamie-boy,” his father said into his shoulder.

  Jamie loved his father and hoped he didn’t make his already complicated life any harder. Hugh Conway had been a Magdalene laundry baby, lucky enough to have been adopted out. Any record of his birth mother had been lost, but he loved the parents who had raised him. He had a wife and four children: Two girls, married with children of their own now, Jamie, and Jamie’s little sister, Aoife, who had Down Syndrome. Jamie knew that sometimes people, well-meaning and awful, offered his father sympathy — about his queerness or Aoife’s situation — as if his family wasn’t the sort anyone would want.

  But a family was what you made it; Jamie’s father had told them all that their whole lives. His older sisters had careers and families. Aoife was happy, had a job in a bakery and a boyfriend. When Jamie had been bullied as a child, his father had taught him how to punch and then told him he never had to if he didn’t want. Jamie’s mother, Maureen, had raised her children to do right by each other and the rest of the world, as far as they could. She’d driven Jamie to countless auditions and come to every school play Jamie had ever been in. When he got the part in Butterflies and Fences, she'd cried with happiness and then phoned all their neighbors and cousins to share the news. When it came to parents, Jamie knew he couldn’t have done better.

  “There’s tea in the flask if you want it,” Hugh said as they got in the car.

  “Thanks.” Jamie fished the slightly dented container out of the cup holder, unscrewed the cap and gulped a too-hot mouthful gratefully. It had started to rain on the last leg of the ferry ride, and the wipers squeaked on the windscreen as his dad pulled the car out onto the road.

  “Good ride?” Hugh asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Your mother’ll be glad to see you.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jamie was glad when they lapsed into companionable silence. It was always like this when Jamie first got in. Quiet and easy, his father giving him time to get used to being home again. Jamie had worried the first time he had come back after moving to the UK for drama school that somehow home wouldn’t still be home. But as infrequently as he took them, trips to Dublin always grounded him.

  Landing a part in Butterflies had been a dream come true. On set, Jamie could focus on the work. Away from it, he was realizing that he was scared more often than not. Not frightened, but uncertain of how to behave. What was he supposed to talk to his family or his friends about without sounding like a huge prat? The production office was making noises about a press junket and, ridiculously, attention from random people on the street had already started.

  It had been cool the first time and embarrassing the second. Now it made Jamie feel awkward because people wanted some happiness out of meeting him that he had no idea how to give. As the headlights swept the dark road ahead, Jamie was glad for the break. The bustle of London started to fade in his mind. On the monotony of the road he was exactly who he always should have been: Absolutely no one, going home to see his family.

  The dog, improbably named Vegetables thanks to the combined efforts of Jamie's nieces, started barking as soon as Jamie and his dad opened the front gate. When his mum came to the door, Aoife peering around her shoulder, the creature bolted out into the garden and ran happy circles around Jamie while the humans hushed him to be quiet before he woke the neighbors.

  Maureen pulled her son in for a hug like he hadn’t been home for years, then bustled Jamie into the kitchen. The house wasn’t large, but it had never felt cramped, not even when Jamie had been in school and he, his parents, and his three sisters had all lived under the same roof.

  The kitchen was warm. The old familiar lamp swung gently over the table, making the shadows on the wall sway slightly. The light fell on a needlepoint sampler, embroidered with a prayer, and on the kitchen table with the faint outline of water stains Jamie and Aoife were responsible for as children. The cushions on the chairs were a bit flat from years of use. At the window, lace curtains formed a creamy yellow barricade against the dark May night outside.

  “I’m glad you made it back,” his mum said, stern like any Irish mother, though the corners of her eyes crinkled with her smile. She had the same blue eyes and thick dark hair as Jamie.

  Jamie laughed. “You had several very specific threats as to what would happen if I didn’t.”

  “And they worked, didn’t they? Do you want coffee?”

  Jamie said no and thank you, because it was his mum. If nothing else, making movies was teaching him the ongoing value of courtesy. “Don’t figure I need to be awake to vote,” he added. If he was going to get through the next two days, he was going to need to pace his caffeine intake. “How’s Mary? And Beth and the kids?”

  As his mum made them all breakfast, Aoife filled him in on the doings of their older sisters. Mary, who was thirty, lived in Cork with her husband and worked in hospitality. Beth was thirty-two and had married her high school sweetheart. She and her husband now lived a few streets over from Hugh and Maureen. Their daughters, Anne and Grace, the nieces responsible for naming the dog, were apparently quite put out that Uncle Jamie was going to be in town but they weren’t going to see him.

  “You should call more often,” his mum reproved.

  “I know. It’s been busy.”

  “You want to tell us about it?” Hugh asked.

  “Want to,” Jamie said. “Don’t really know how.”

  “They nice to you, working you like that?” Maureen asked.

  “Yeah,” Jamie said distractedly. “Yeah they...well Callum, he — is this weird?” He squinted at his dad. There were half a dozen DVDs of movies Callum had been in on the shelf next to the TV. Jamie knew, because he’d seen them all as a teenager. Multiple times.

  “’Course it’s weird,” his dad said with a fond smile. “Now tell your mother the story.”

  Jamie took a breath. “Okay, I screwed this up. Bad, like. And I’m totally not supposed to be here. But Callum, I don’t know, it’s like he feels important when he can do stuff for people, and when I said I was worried about how mad you were going to be if I couldn’t get here....”

  “I can only respect your interests if you’re going to protect your interests,” Maureen said.

  “Yeah,” Jamie blew by his mother’s constant bargaining about his bisexuality. She wasn’t wrong, and she did accept him, but it wasn’t always easy. “He made me get all the Irish kids on set together, figure out who had a plan and who didn’t, and then came up with a way to fix it for us. Made the director change the schedule and everything. So yeah. Everyone’s nice.”

  Saying it out loud, Jamie knew it mostly made sense and yet didn’t quite. No one was that nice. He wondered, not for the first time, if Callum felt he had some stake in the vote. He wasn’t Irish, of course. But there were occasionally rumors about his sexuality if a person Googled hard enough.

  The sky was growing lighter and the birds had started chattering up a storm. Jamie’s mother looked at the clock. “The polls are opening soon. Aoife, love, get your coat, we can drop you off at the bakery after you vote. Let’s get in line.”

  Chapter 5 - Callum makes decisions he probably shouldn’t

  Jamie appeared in the makeup trailer shortly after noon and nearly asleep on his feet. Callum doubted very much he’d gotten more than a half hour of semi-unconsciousness on the plane back from Dublin to London. His hair was a mess, his freckles stood out against his pale skin, and there were dark circles under his eyes. The Irish complexion did not hide exhaustion, but Callum found the rumpled, sleepy-eyed look appealing in the extreme. Jamie wasn’t small or slight
— he was quite solid, really, with the shoulders of a rugby player and a strong jaw — but seeing him this worn out by the world made Callum want to cuddle him close.

  “You made it,” he said warmly in lieu of doing anything of the sort.

  Jamie blinked as if he hadn’t even realized the other man was standing right there, but gratefully accepted the paper cup of coffee Callum pressed into his hands. He nodded as he drank and nearly choked on the scalding coffee in the process. “Thanks to you.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to get home,” Callum teased.

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t have asked. Wouldn’t have asked you to ask either.” Jamie stifled a yawn with his free hand. “So thank you.”

  Callum hummed in acknowledgment.

  Jamie blinked at him. Then seemed to startle. He dropped his hand. “Hey,” Jamie said quietly.

  “What is it?” Callum prodded when Jamie didn’t say anything else. He leaned closer.

  “Can we talk? Just us? Later?” Jamie asked, drawing out the words and the pauses between them. His pale cheeks were now streaked with a bright flush as if he were embarrassed.

  “Of course,” Callum said easily, but as he straightened up, his thoughts were less calm than his outer appearance. Jamie’s request, although not unreasonable, was unclear. Was something wrong? Was Jamie upset? Callum wondered suddenly if Jamie were attempting to flirt. Helping Jamie get home to vote, whatever Thom might say, was one thing. A request for a just us talk might be another thing entirely. Or it might be nothing at all. “What about?”

  “Nothing major. Just...I need to pick your brain about a thing. Yeah?”

  “Sure. Tomorrow? After you’ve slept?” Jamie needed rest, but Callum also wanted the chance to call Nerea just in case there was a chance of something happening between him and this boy.

  Jamie shook his head. “Tonight.”

  Callum looked at him cautiously. Nerea wouldn’t mind hearing about whatever this was after the fact. She might even prefer it that way, although the lack of her good counsel would leave him at a disadvantage. He took a deep breath. “All right. If you think you can remain conscious.”

  JAMIE, TO CALLUM’S amusement, didn’t even ask where they were going until they were already in the cab.

  “My club.” Callum said. “If that’s all right?”

  “Sure, yeah.” Jamie waved a hand, too tired to care where they went.

  Still, Callum was grateful his club was hipper than some of its compatriots. Located in a small townhouse in Soho, its only oil paintings were ironic. Callum was fairly certain the massive deer head mounted on the wall in the entrance way was also ironic but had never chanced asking.

  At the desk, Eloise — she of Thom's failed dating attempt — greeted them both with a tight smile before ushering them to the pub room.

  “Do you want food or do you just want to drink?” Callum asked, as they were shown to their table. Or rather, as Callum sat down; Jamie seemed to melt into his chair as a puddle of weary boy.

  “Not sure I’m awake enough to lift a fork.”

  “Then you certainly won’t survive just drinking,” Callum said amiably with a hand to Jamie’s shoulder before going to the bar to order for the both of them.

  The room, half full, was dark. In the far corner, nestled in a black leather banquette, a couple was on a date. Closer by, a collection of friends or business associates relaxed around a circular table. None of them paid the least bit of attention to Callum and Jamie.

  “Thanks for taking the time to talk with me,” Jamie said when Callum returned to the table.

  “Of course.” He still wasn’t sure why they were here, but he meant it, potential ulterior motives aside. He waited to say more, giving Jamie a chance to gather his thoughts. Jamie’s eyes glittered in the dark.

  “Jamie,” Callum said when several long moments had passed without a word. “You’ve had an incredibly long day. Are you sure you want to do this tonight? I can get you home.”

  “No, no. No. Thanks." Jamie sat up straighter. “I wanted to ask you. Well — I mean. I’m sorry if this is going make things awkward, but why did you help me get to Ireland? I know it wasn’t just me you helped, but it was because of me.”

  “Not untrue.”

  “So I keep trying to figure it out. And either you’re too nice to live— ”

  “Hardly.”

  “ — Or I have to ask this.”

  “Go on.”

  “Have you been flirting with me?”

  Callum blinked mildly at him and took a sip of water. Before Jamie could do something like bolt in horror or start babbling apologies, he said, simply, “Yes.”

  “Like — flirting flirting, or....” Jamie’s voice trailed off.

  Callum raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you’re trying to ask, Jamie, spit it out.”

  “I just wanted to know,” he said a little defensively. “You flirt. With me. And with everyone. Like. A lot. And there are rumors — and I know, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t listen to gossip, and I’m being horribly rude, and can we pretend I never asked to talk to you tonight?”

  Callum shook his head. “Bit late now. What are you asking?” he said gently. “What do you need?”

  Jamie looked like he hoped the floor would swallow him up but he soldiered on anyway. Callum admired the effort.

  “Are you — maybe not totally straight?” Jamie asked.

  “I’m married to a woman,” Callum said in a tone of wry amusement. Jamie was far too much fun to tease, even if it was probably cruel to do so.

  “I know that.”

  “And, like the tabloids we all call liars have occasionally said, I’ve had relationships with men. A lot of them. A few were even serious. Does that answer your question?”

  Jamie swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes, I think so. I...sorry. Some people would have been insulted. By the question, I mean.”

  “Some people don’t live in the twenty-first century or make very good dining companions,” Callum said lightly as their food arrived.

  “I’m a horrible dining companion right now,” Jamie admitted, twitching his napkin onto his lap.

  Callum shrugged. “I’ve had worse. Now, was there more to your question?” It was obvious that hadn't been all Jamie was after. At least Callum hoped not.

  Jamie stared at his hands for a moment. “I’m not totally straight either. Which I assume you knew or guessed because of, well, the flirting. And not being totally straight, that’s always been fine? But that was before all this — the movie, I mean — and it’s going to be mad isn’t it?”

  “It’s an experience the first time you see yourself twelve meters high on the side of a building, yes. Which is going to happen.” There were things about this situation that were not normal, but their respective sexualities were not among them.

  “I meant the thing where I’m not straight.”

  “Are you gay?” Callum was curious as to how Jamie identified and if he could make himself say it out loud.

  “Bi,” Jamie half-squeaked. “And people are arseholes about that, you know?”

  “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.” Callum leaned close.

  “What’s that?” Jamie leaned in too. Callum wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

  “People are arseholes about everything,” Callum said. “And if you remember that, when they’re giving you trouble about who you date or anything in your life you don’t want to share with them, you’ll remember their judgments have nothing to do with you and it’s not your job to respond.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve known people were arseholes since I was a kid,” Jamie said.

  “It doesn’t get better when you grow up, so congratulations to you.” Callum looked at the boy, who appeared even more uncertain than when they had first sat down, and decided to take pity on him. “How’s your family?”

  Jamie relaxed at the question. With Callum’s assistance, the conversation turned to easier topics. But whe
n he leaned forward to make some point and rested a hand on Jamie’s wrist on the table, Jamie asked, “Are you flirting with me now?”

  Callum looked down at their hands and chuckled. “I suppose I am. But as you pointed out, I do with everyone. Flirting doesn’t have to have intent. It can just be a nice game. Or a diversion. Or a way to make someone else feel good. Which you probably know.”

  “Maybe,” Jamie said cautiously.

  Callum couldn’t resist playing coy. “So I guess my question is whether your question is about whether I’m flirting with intent.”

  Jamie smiled. “Maybe.”

  Callum made a decision. “Then I am absolutely flirting with intent. Do you want me to stop?”

  A stunned smile bloomed on the boy’s face. “Uh. No. It’s okay.”

  “Good.” Callum brushed his thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m glad.”

  AN HOUR LATER JAMIE’S eyes shone a bit as Callum slid into the backseat of the cab next to him and pulled the door shut. Callum smiled at him when Jamie twined his fingers into his as soon as he touched the boy’s hand again. Jamie was an absolute wonder.

  “Wait,” Jamie said, his eyes growing suddenly wide as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

  “What is it?”

  “What about your wife?”

  “Points for asking, and it’s fine. I’ll explain when we’re not in a taxi.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Okay,” Jamie said, apparently mollified. He slumped sideways and leaned his head on Callum’s shoulder.

  Callum’s breath caught in his chest. This was going to be absolutely marvelous.

  “DO YOU WANT ANYTHING to drink?” Callum asked as they walked into the flat. He tossed his keys into a bowl on the coffee table and his jacket over the back of the armchair. Jamie unzipped his own coat slowly and laid it somewhat tentatively over Callum’s. “Coffee?”