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“It was like discovering that your innermost fires and terrors, the things you believed no one else could fathom, were in fact the basis of a recognized philosophy. Some part of you felt intimately invaded, threatened; some other part fell to its knees and sobbed in gratitude that it was no longer alone.”
― Poppy Z. Brite, Exquisite Corpse
Rhys doesn’t remember which day of the tour it is, or which day it is, in general. He barely remembers who he is, repeating the same phrases and jokes over and over. His public persona is polished to perfection, and his performance is almost Oscar-worthy. He was never interested in acting but maybe he should consider it. One day - when the book checks run out and he has no more ideas racing in his mind.
The one thing he knows is that he is in New York. The Big Apple. It didn’t really change since the last time he was here.
He associated city after city mostly with the writers that came from there. The rating depended on how many of his favorites originated from there. James Baldwin. Joan Didion. Maybe Hanya Yanagihara if Rhys thought about his peers. There were two days in his life when he had to depend solely on espresso just because he was devouring A Little Life.
The bookstore he is in today holds a certain charm. It’s not showy or obnoxious. It’s for the people who already know about its existence. If you would see it just from the outside, you would pass it without thinking twice. It tries to blend in - just another store in the endless rows of stores. But once you walk inside, you can’t help but fall in love.
And Rhys did fall in love.
He immediately knew that he needed to mark this day somewhere. The day when his life definitely changed. The day after which nothing would be the same. He knew he found his equal.
It was, honestly, fate. Rhys walked between shelves, almost floating, noticing books he has rarely seen in paperback. The bookstore’s interior wasn’t perfect but the store itself looked loved and taken care of.
The man found himself in a pretty dark and small corner that looked hidden. The books on these shelves were different. Most of them Rhys recognized as novels that were deemed as very problematic, dark, or disturbing, even. A sharp pang of recognition went through him.
“Sorry, are you lost?”
He turned towards a man speaking. Big, dark, deer-like eyes. Fresh and open expression. A bookstore employee, no doubt; he put on a customer service face and everything.
“Oh. Is this a forbidden section of some sort? Did I run into something I shouldn’t have?”
The customer service face dropped. Rhys looked at the name on his badge. Joe, the manager, took a pause and beamed at Rhys again, in the “how can I help you” manner.
“It’s not forbidden, no. Just hidden in case of, you know, children walking around. Wouldn’t want them to see all the books about BDSM and necrophilia, right?”
“This is a very… unique collection. Can I ask if you’re the one who acquired it?” Rhys was inspecting Joe’s face, trying not to make direct eye contact. He feared he would see right through him but he didn’t know what he was more scared of - the recognition? Or the disappointment, when his suspicions would turn out to be false?
“Well, I’m the one managing the store, so yes, that would be me.” Joe did a small bow, and looked up, “Hope I’m not getting arrested by… a bookstore police?”
Rhys lifted a finger, and swiped through a stack of books, stopping on one of the paperbacks. “Yes, here,” he pulled it out of the shelf and turned the cover to Joe, “Exquisite Corpse. Have you read it?”
“Long time ago but I think I put it down. I can be a bit squeamish sometimes.”
“You should give it another try”, Rhys looked Joe straight in the eyes. The other man didn’t look away.
“Can you… give me some reasons to try it again?”
“It’s the best love story, really. You could see it as…”, Rhys raised his eyebrows, “just a story about two serial killers who fuck, kill, and eat. But it is much more. It shows the real nature of what it is, being in love.”
Joe was silent, and Rhys couldn’t stop staring at him. His skin was buzzing with excitement, and he was sure that all the hair on his body stood up. In Joe’s eyes, he saw the answer to his question.
And then, Joe laughed.
“Well, sorry. Still not convinced. Graphic violence really doesn’t float my boat.”
A bald-faced lie and Rhys could smell it. His eyes, his face, his presence, and his demeanor - Rhys knew he did hurt someone. Definitely saw blood. Definitely thought about seriously hurting someone. Or maybe… he already did.
Rhys’s head started spinning at that moment, and he squinted.
“It’s okay. Maybe you’ll change your mind someday.”
He moved towards Joe who slid to the side, letting Rhys pass.
*****
The signing event went without a hitch. Rhys tried to stop his wandering mind but every once in a while, he would scan the store, trying to find Joe in the crowd. Apparently, he was not present and left an assistant in his stead. Rhys decided he would think about Joe later.
After he was done with the whole thing, the good wishes, and goodbyes, Rhys dropped a couple of leftover signed copies on the desk, dashing a smile at the oblivious, sweaty assistant. He walked out of the store knowing exactly where to go. Usually, the power of his charm and wits annoyed him. It took all the surprise from the game. No unexpected turns or sudden twists. The same old road of smiling and being perceived as someone who he is not.
This time, it was actually helpful. You pick the right words to say, you get a prize.
When Rhys approached the building Joe was living in, he felt a rush of adrenaline. He went upstairs, paying no mind to the booming music (a party), and two voices yelling (a fighting couple). He knocked and after a minute or two of waiting, got the ring full of keys out of his pocket. A nice find - he only had to walk behind the counter to see it.
The door opened with no sound, and Rhys quickly went in and closed it behind him. He breathed in the smell of dust and old cologne and sighed. The apartment didn’t look that well lived-in. Rhys looked at the traces of Joe living here. Cheap furniture, an extensive library of classics, a soft sweater lying on a sofa. Rhys looked down at the coffee table and chuckled. Exquisite Corpse, and next to it - his own book, probably snatched from the stacks of the copies he was signing today.
*****
Rhys thankfully had one night to rest before his agent would whisk him to the next city. He didn’t have the best sleep, staring out the window at the dark city below. He wondered what Joe was doing. Is he reading Rhys’s book before going to bed? Having a drink to help him fall asleep? Maybe he has someone. A faceless girl to make him feel normal, to help him assimilate. Maybe he is fucking her now. Being a bit rough but not too much. Grabbing her thighs, thinking of bruising the skin. Looking at her pretty face and imagining crushing her skull.
And she would never understand - the language of violence, the softness in pain. Not because she is a woman, no, Rhys doesn’t think of himself better just because he has a cock. No. But Rhys would make it better. Rhys would understand the hurt, the scars, the darkness. He would soothe Joe’s wounds, and ground him in their shared reality. They would hold each other in place, seen and understood. No acting, no putting on a face that doesn’t belong to him.
But Joe looked away. Joe couldn’t meet his eye and accept the truth - even though it touched him, even though he noticed something. “Squeamish”, “it doesn’t float my boat” - probably the lies he tells himself over and over again. Rhys knew he and Joe were meant to be friends, companions, and confidants. Joe was meant to be his.
But Joe was not ready, and Rhys would never try to rush things.
He could wait.
*****
And wait, he did.
He took infrequent flights to New York, trying to get as less involved as possible. Then it changed to the flights to LA, buying a shitty smoothie in Anavrin, seeing Joe be Will Bettelheim, running after another girl who will never be good enough for him. Even her psycho antics were tasteless. Another traumatized, fucked-up replacement for Joe’s mom. Rhys wondered where Joe was even finding all those women.
And then Joe got married, and Rhys was a little bitter. He thought about sending Joe and Love an anonymous wedding gift, with a cryptic message to accompany it - just to make them a bit more restless and angry at each other. But they didn’t actually need his help - they hated each other eagerly, without any guidance. Rhys took slow drives from San Francisco to Madre Linda; the suburbs annoyed him to no end. When everything went up in flames (literally), Rhys was happy to never see California ever again.
He thought that maybe it was time. Joe went to Europe - chasing another woman who didn’t want him, what a surprise - and Rhys felt that it was his chance.
They ran into each other - quite literally, even though planned. Rhys played a role of a distracted guy reading a book. You couldn’t get more obvious than that. The book fell out of his relaxed grip, and Joe bent over to pick it up. Exquisite Corpse. He held it out, and Rhys took it from him, deliberately brushing their fingers together. The first, but not the only time they touched.
“Sorry. It’s very enthralling.”
“No problem, I always understand the fellow book lover”, Joe politely nodded and kept walking. Rhys saw no recognition in his expression.
He forgot him, completely.
And Rhys wasn’t even mad. With all the things Joe went through, all the heartache, and denial - how could he not forget him? Rhys regretted not pushing him more, and not sending some reminders. Now he had to act fast, and make a plan.
Rhys knew that Love’s father sent a hitman after Joe. But he also knew hitmen were rarely loyal. He thought of his stupid college friends back in London, and how he had to spend more time with them lately - he was preparing to run for mayor, after all. His new book was a hit, the agents told him. He pondered a bit.
He would orchestrate a series of reminders, a courtship disguised as an intricate game of chess.
Joe couldn’t possibly decline.