go.” He pointed to the Treasure Island entrance. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”
“You forget I’ve lived a lot longer than you.”
“Yes, I know. Age and beauty. I’ll be home around dawn.” Rory hugged him.
Yamane looked around, but no one paid attention. He wondered if that was because in the clothing he wore, he could easily be mistaken for a boyishly made woman. He decided to walk some more, and looked in on the casinos. He didn’t like the atmosphere or the crowds.
62 Z. A. Maxfield
At least he felt he could smoke freely, but then he laughed at himself when he picked up his cigarette butt among the thousands on the ground to throw it away. In the end he decided to get a nice big bottle of something lethal and go back to the room.
* * * * *
The phone rang at about six a.m. but Yamane only heard it as a distant annoyance from beyond the billowy cocoon of misery he’d wrapped around his head. It had seemed like a good idea to maintain a blissfully oblivious buzz all night, but now, in the painful morning after, not so much. He ignored the phone completely, so when he heard the key turning in the lock he tried to ignore that too.
“What the hell?” came Rory’s voice from somewhere far away. Another planet.
“What?”
“Are you drunk?”
Shirtless, Yamane arose like a zombie from the rumpled motel bed.
“You got a problem with that?” he asked. His head was ringing, and his mouth tasted like he was sucking on dirty socks. He sat cross-legged on the bed. He plastered a phony smile on his face. “So, how’d it go?”
Rory stood framed in the doorway. “I’m not a subtext kind of guy, Yamane. If you have something to say, please say it.”
“I need a shower.” Yamane tried to walk past him.
“Not so fast, cher.” Rory caught the smaller man as he attempted to slip by him.
“Whoa, you smell like a still.”
“Sorry.” Yamane had worked himself into such a state of self-pity that he’d bleed out his eyeballs before he’d let this man cher him.
“When you come back, I have some things to show you,” Rory said simply, letting him go.
While Yamane was in the shower, Rory tidied up bedroom area. He needed a nap.
First, though, he had to find out why the princess was in a royal snit. He hadn’t been very forthcoming about his plans, mainly because if he failed, he didn’t want Yamane to know it.
Yamane thought he was a naive otaku who lived in a world of comic book fantasies.
Rory admitted he might have done something to enhance that idea by driving all the way from Louisiana to win over his “sacred maiden.” Rory got out the packages he brought with him. Sometimes things just don’t go the way you plan.
He sat down at the little desk, using his pocketknife to open a blister-packed pain reliever. He chewed the tablets, making a face that only people who chew medicine like that can make.
Drawn Together
63
When Yamane finally emerged, he was scrubbed clean with wet hair, wearing jeans and a huge T-shirt. Rory thought he looked like a drowned cat.
“So, are you going to tell me what this is about?” Rory asked. “I called to tell you I would be late, but you didn’t answer.”
“I’m sorry. I must have been passed out.” Yamane looked away.
“Drinking like that is often its own reward, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Yamane bit his lip.
“I bought some things. I got phones; we’ll need to charge those,” he said, going through the packages. “I got myself some clothes. I didn’t bring many when I left home. We can do some laundry this afternoon, if you’d like.” He held out a rectangular-shaped velvet box. “I bought you a present.” He blushed now that it came time to give it.
“Rory, for me? This is by far the strangest thing ever. I’m sitting here thinking, ‘Why am I waiting in a motel like a child while you go out with a woman?’ But then you come back with a present for me. Why would you bring me a present? You didn’t steal
“You forget I’ve lived a lot longer than you.”
“Yes, I know. Age and beauty. I’ll be home around dawn.” Rory hugged him.
Yamane looked around, but no one paid attention. He wondered if that was because in the clothing he wore, he could easily be mistaken for a boyishly made woman. He decided to walk some more, and looked in on the casinos. He didn’t like the atmosphere or the crowds.
62 Z. A. Maxfield
At least he felt he could smoke freely, but then he laughed at himself when he picked up his cigarette butt among the thousands on the ground to throw it away. In the end he decided to get a nice big bottle of something lethal and go back to the room.
* * * * *
The phone rang at about six a.m. but Yamane only heard it as a distant annoyance from beyond the billowy cocoon of misery he’d wrapped around his head. It had seemed like a good idea to maintain a blissfully oblivious buzz all night, but now, in the painful morning after, not so much. He ignored the phone completely, so when he heard the key turning in the lock he tried to ignore that too.
“What the hell?” came Rory’s voice from somewhere far away. Another planet.
“What?”
“Are you drunk?”
Shirtless, Yamane arose like a zombie from the rumpled motel bed.
“You got a problem with that?” he asked. His head was ringing, and his mouth tasted like he was sucking on dirty socks. He sat cross-legged on the bed. He plastered a phony smile on his face. “So, how’d it go?”
Rory stood framed in the doorway. “I’m not a subtext kind of guy, Yamane. If you have something to say, please say it.”
“I need a shower.” Yamane tried to walk past him.
“Not so fast, cher.” Rory caught the smaller man as he attempted to slip by him.
“Whoa, you smell like a still.”
“Sorry.” Yamane had worked himself into such a state of self-pity that he’d bleed out his eyeballs before he’d let this man cher him.
“When you come back, I have some things to show you,” Rory said simply, letting him go.
While Yamane was in the shower, Rory tidied up bedroom area. He needed a nap.
First, though, he had to find out why the princess was in a royal snit. He hadn’t been very forthcoming about his plans, mainly because if he failed, he didn’t want Yamane to know it.
Yamane thought he was a naive otaku who lived in a world of comic book fantasies.
Rory admitted he might have done something to enhance that idea by driving all the way from Louisiana to win over his “sacred maiden.” Rory got out the packages he brought with him. Sometimes things just don’t go the way you plan.
He sat down at the little desk, using his pocketknife to open a blister-packed pain reliever. He chewed the tablets, making a face that only people who chew medicine like that can make.
Drawn Together
63
When Yamane finally emerged, he was scrubbed clean with wet hair, wearing jeans and a huge T-shirt. Rory thought he looked like a drowned cat.
“So, are you going to tell me what this is about?” Rory asked. “I called to tell you I would be late, but you didn’t answer.”
“I’m sorry. I must have been passed out.” Yamane looked away.
“Drinking like that is often its own reward, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Yamane bit his lip.
“I bought some things. I got phones; we’ll need to charge those,” he said, going through the packages. “I got myself some clothes. I didn’t bring many when I left home. We can do some laundry this afternoon, if you’d like.” He held out a rectangular-shaped velvet box. “I bought you a present.” He blushed now that it came time to give it.
“Rory, for me? This is by far the strangest thing ever. I’m sitting here thinking, ‘Why am I waiting in a motel like a child while you go out with a woman?’ But then you come back with a present for me. Why would you bring me a present? You didn’t steal
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