scratched his balls in a manner distinctively het. There was a guy in a wheelchair in the end unit. He was picked up by a van at 10:00 a.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was cute, if you found librarian-types cute—which Luke did. But he never looked in Luke’s direction. A hot, intellectual-looking yuppie in unit 27 topped Luke’s suspect list for a while. But one day Luke saw a young woman with a twin baby stroller emerge from the same flat. Not gay, then.
I N TOWN , the only places Luke went to regularly were the grocery store, a coffee shop called Diggits, and Chumley’s, a gay bar. He usually took his laptop to Diggits on Wednesday afternoons and worked there just for a change of scenery.
He went to Diggits at his usual time and surreptitiously cased the joint. The girl behind the counter had blue hair, a bored attitude, and a nametag that said “Jazzy.” She’d never even remotely flirted with him. There was an all-American busboy, but his eyes were so dull with disinterest that Luke figured he’d have to wear a little black dress and heels to get a reaction. Luke recognized a few regulars, but none of them seemed suspicious.
On Friday he hit Chumley’s. He’d decided when he moved here that he and Chumley’s should have a distant relationship. He’d sown his wild oats in San Francisco—or what passed for wild oats for a workaholic nerd. Here in the medium-sized university town of State College, Pennsylvania, Chumley’s was the first, and the last, of the gay scene. Luke was twenty-eight and ready to meet someone meaningful. He didn’t want a rep as a man-ho. So he’d gone to Chumley’s just a few times, when he’d been bat-shit stir-crazy and horny as a goat. He’d hooked up twice, but neither was anything more than a one-night stand.
Chumley’s was a mix of leather, business types, and college students. It was a friendly place that lacked the feelings of judgment that dogged the San Fran clubs, where wearing the wrong shoes could get you treated like pork rinds at a vegan potluck. Luke drank a beer and played detective for a while, but no one was ringing any bells on the suspect hotline.
He got a bit distracted by the heated glances of a man wearing a black leather jacket and a tight white T-shirt. His face was rough but attractive. Luke tried to come up with a good reason for him to be a suspect. But no, it was impossible to see Biker Boy with a dictionary, except possibly as a doorstop.
Then again, there were more things in life than finding his secret admirer.
An hour later, Luke found himself giggling his way up the stairs to his apartment with “James” in tow. The sex was fine, if perfunctory. The lonely stillness of his apartment after James left was depressing. It made Luke realize how unlikely it was that he’d attracted the attention of anyone with substance at Chumley’s. There were too many fishermen there and too much bait for any one small fry to make an impression. Enigma 3, Luke 0.
Saturday and Sunday Luke did the crosswords by “A Ecrivain” with anticipation, but he found no secret message. Then Monday’s edition came.
1 across – Gospel writer _ _ _ _
10 across – RV date? _ _ _ _ _ _
18 down – Fish Fri _ _ _ _ _ _
19 across – Time for bed _ _ _ _ _
20 across – He has less fun _ _ _ _ _ _
20 down – Two-wheeler _ _ _ _ _
35 across – A lonely feeling _ _ _
[Luke hookup Friday night brunet biker sad]
Luke stared at the paper. Suddenly the game wasn’t funny anymore. He’d been watched—or at least seen —the night he brought James home. That was both creepy and made him feel squicky, like he’d cheated on someone and been caught. But he hadn’t even met A. Ecrivain yet!
Luke tried to focus on work, but the crossword puzzle would float to his mind every so often and bring with it an awful feeling. He told himself he didn’t care. But he did. The lure of the puzzle had been great, the cleverness of it. And the fact that someone would
I N TOWN , the only places Luke went to regularly were the grocery store, a coffee shop called Diggits, and Chumley’s, a gay bar. He usually took his laptop to Diggits on Wednesday afternoons and worked there just for a change of scenery.
He went to Diggits at his usual time and surreptitiously cased the joint. The girl behind the counter had blue hair, a bored attitude, and a nametag that said “Jazzy.” She’d never even remotely flirted with him. There was an all-American busboy, but his eyes were so dull with disinterest that Luke figured he’d have to wear a little black dress and heels to get a reaction. Luke recognized a few regulars, but none of them seemed suspicious.
On Friday he hit Chumley’s. He’d decided when he moved here that he and Chumley’s should have a distant relationship. He’d sown his wild oats in San Francisco—or what passed for wild oats for a workaholic nerd. Here in the medium-sized university town of State College, Pennsylvania, Chumley’s was the first, and the last, of the gay scene. Luke was twenty-eight and ready to meet someone meaningful. He didn’t want a rep as a man-ho. So he’d gone to Chumley’s just a few times, when he’d been bat-shit stir-crazy and horny as a goat. He’d hooked up twice, but neither was anything more than a one-night stand.
Chumley’s was a mix of leather, business types, and college students. It was a friendly place that lacked the feelings of judgment that dogged the San Fran clubs, where wearing the wrong shoes could get you treated like pork rinds at a vegan potluck. Luke drank a beer and played detective for a while, but no one was ringing any bells on the suspect hotline.
He got a bit distracted by the heated glances of a man wearing a black leather jacket and a tight white T-shirt. His face was rough but attractive. Luke tried to come up with a good reason for him to be a suspect. But no, it was impossible to see Biker Boy with a dictionary, except possibly as a doorstop.
Then again, there were more things in life than finding his secret admirer.
An hour later, Luke found himself giggling his way up the stairs to his apartment with “James” in tow. The sex was fine, if perfunctory. The lonely stillness of his apartment after James left was depressing. It made Luke realize how unlikely it was that he’d attracted the attention of anyone with substance at Chumley’s. There were too many fishermen there and too much bait for any one small fry to make an impression. Enigma 3, Luke 0.
Saturday and Sunday Luke did the crosswords by “A Ecrivain” with anticipation, but he found no secret message. Then Monday’s edition came.
1 across – Gospel writer _ _ _ _
10 across – RV date? _ _ _ _ _ _
18 down – Fish Fri _ _ _ _ _ _
19 across – Time for bed _ _ _ _ _
20 across – He has less fun _ _ _ _ _ _
20 down – Two-wheeler _ _ _ _ _
35 across – A lonely feeling _ _ _
[Luke hookup Friday night brunet biker sad]
Luke stared at the paper. Suddenly the game wasn’t funny anymore. He’d been watched—or at least seen —the night he brought James home. That was both creepy and made him feel squicky, like he’d cheated on someone and been caught. But he hadn’t even met A. Ecrivain yet!
Luke tried to focus on work, but the crossword puzzle would float to his mind every so often and bring with it an awful feeling. He told himself he didn’t care. But he did. The lure of the puzzle had been great, the cleverness of it. And the fact that someone would
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