Cobalt by Nathan Aldyne Page A

silence of some moments.
    â€œI think we’re good together,” Terry began in a rush. “The first time I met you, Daniel, it just about blew my mind. I got this feeling like I’ve never had in my life.” He paused significantly, but if he expected Valentine to echo the sentiment, he was to be disappointed. Valentine stood stock-still, hands folded across his chest, and looked closely at Terry. “At the same time I had the feeling—and I know it’s right—that something good could come of it. If you’d only give it a chance.”
    Valentine said nothing.
    â€œOh,” Terry went on after a moment, “I’m not asking for a commitment, it’s too soon. I just want you to give us a chance. I’ve made reservations at the Boatslip for every weekend they had a room open. I won’t be back next weekend but I will be the one after. And all I want you to do right now is say you’ll set aside that weekend for us . That’s all the commitment I want. Daniel, this could be the start of the most important part of our entire lives.”
    Daniel made no reply.
    â€œYou look angry,” said Terry slowly.
    â€œI am.”
    â€œHow could you be angry?!”
    â€œBecause,” said Valentine softly, “that’s exactly what I don’t want—a relationship, I mean.” His gaze was harder than Terry O’Sullivan was prepared to deal with.
    â€œYes, you do want it,” said Terry O’Sullivan, glancing away. “But you’re afraid of making a commitment.”
    â€œListen to me.” Valentine’s voice was icy. “If you will remember correctly, you and I have never had sex. We occupied the same bed for an hour and a half, while you talked. I didn’t even get to take off my cufflinks. And you know what else? That was it. That was the high point of what you consider ‘our relationship.’ Because that’s as far as you’re ever going to get with me.”
    Terry was crushed.
    â€œI would have had sex with you—but I get you into bed, and you pull out this contract you want me to sign. I have no interest in contracts.”
    â€œGay people ought to learn—”
    â€œI’m not talking about ‘gay people,’ I’m talking about me !”
    â€œWhat about Clarisse?” Terry demanded pettishly.
    â€œClarisse,” said Valentine solemnly, “is the love of my life.”
    â€œShe’s a woman!”
    â€œYou’re being rude, Terry.”
    â€œRude! I love you. I…” He broke off in frustration.
    â€œPlease leave,” said Valentine quietly, not allowing the man to speak.
    â€œNo, you’re wrong, I—” Terry began again apologetically.
    â€œPlease leave,” Valentine repeated in a tone of voice that wasn’t as soft as before, “because if you don’t leave now all you’ll have to show for your efforts is an early grave and all I’ll have is a cell in Walpole.”
    Terry eased off the barstool. “You do this a lot, don’t you?” he said bitterly. “You must, ’cause you’re real good at it.”
    Valentine turned toward the cash register and pushed several buttons in rapid succession. In tiny red lights across the screen were spelled out the words REGISTER CLOSED.
    Terry O’Sullivan turned on his heel and left the bar.

Chapter Fourteen

    O N MONDAY NIGHT Clarisse decided that she ought to catch up on a little sleep. She had gone to bed not at all on Saturday night, slept little on Sunday, and after two full days of work and thinking about a dead man, she was weary. She declined an invitation to dinner with Valentine, and dined alone on a glass of red wine and half an Explorateur cheese—her favorite. After a leisurely bath, she put on a fresh nightgown, slipped between the sheets and was asleep within five minutes.
    Next morning she awoke ready to face life. She checked on Valentine and