Identity Check

Chapter 7

What Nick said about Russ played on Patrick's mind over the next few days. A couple of days after Christmas he headed back up to Newcastle on the train alone, due back to work a week before Nick was due back to university. With time to think on the journey he finally realised just what it was bothering him about the remark.

Russ wasn't his boyfriend, and seemed to have no interest in becoming that. And yet Patrick kept on going back to him. Why?

Because he was playing safe.

Not just with Russ, but by working his way through the group. He went home with one of them, even if a hotter guy had been eyeing him up, because it was the safe option. Not that he wanted to put himself in danger of course, but he should perhaps... broaden his horizons. If I'm going to be gay, he thought, I should be gay! Live the life. He didn't plan to drop the group of course, they were good friends. But there were many other men out there.

There was still Simon of course. But every day that passed without a word from him convinced Patrick even more that he at least had the right to enjoy himself until Simon came back and explained himself.

With all these things on his mind he left the empty house on New Year's Eve and strode down the garden path, tossing his house keys in the air and catching them.

Look out, Triangle.

Patrick's back.

He found Russ's group in one of their usual warm up bars, but Russ himself was nowhere to be seen, spending New Year's Eve with his family, according to an email from Phil earlier. Well that was good. One less easy option, one less fall back. Tonight the group was a jumping off point.

He grabbed a drink, a cocktail that turned out to be bright green, and joined the gang, sitting beside Phil, who put an arm around him and kissed him on the cheek.

"I missed you!" Phil yelled above the music and the noisier than usual crowd. "Did you have a great Christmas?"

"Not bad," Patrick said, which didn't really count as a lie. It hadn't been bad after all. More like terrible, appalling, horrific. Except, after leaving his grandparents home he'd gone to London with the Masons and Christmas with them was just confusing. It was miles away from his mother's idea of the perfect, ritualised Christmas and yet he'd enjoyed it more than he had in years. How did that work? He shook himself from his contemplation and smiled at Phil. Perhaps he'd tell Phil the details later, but not tonight. "How was yours?"

"Great, great. Are you ready for tonight?"

"New Year's Eve? Of course."

"Oh, screw New Year's Eve! I mean the monthly dance contest at the Circle. Remember I told you last month we should enter? Well we are not only entering, we are bloody well winning! You and me dancing... we can't lose."

"You already entered us?" Patrick said, as Phil held up a strip of paper.

"I did. You owe me a fiver. Double prize money tonight. Two hundred quid and a magnum of champagne apiece if we win."

"I could use that cash," Patrick said, nodding, and handing over the five pounds.

"Me too." Phil leaned close and spoke in Patrick's ear. "We have to be real sexy. I've watched who wins this and they're always the guys who can really steam things up."

"I think I can manage that," Patrick said, with a cheeky grin. "Can you?"

"Dancing with you? Better believe it!"

Patrick laughed and pushed him playfully. Crazy guy.

The hit The Circle at ten o'clock, but Phil didn't let Patrick head straight for the dance floor.

"We don't want to get worn out, or all sweaty. Let's you and me go up to the chill-out room and talk some strategy."

They left the others and went upstairs to the chill-out bar, where they bought Red Bull and found a couple of well padded benches to lounge on.

"We're not allowed to snog while dancing, for the contest," Phil said, "Which is kind of a shame. And no obvious sexual touching, no crotch grabbing. Though the arse is not off limits."

"That's good to know. Why the rules?"

"Meh, they don't want it to be just bump and grind and groping. Too obvious. It's got to be more subtle, you know..." He trailed a hand down Patrick's arm. "Sensual." His voice was almost a purr. Nice demo. Patrick ran his own hand over Phil's chest, down his belly, then slid it around his waist.

"Like that?"

Phil shifted in his seat and flushed. "Oh yeah. Just like that."

Patrick grinned at the response. Phil's lips parted slightly as he looked at Patrick. His eyes had a soft glow in the dim light. Be nice to kiss those lips, close those eyes. But an easy option too. And potentially disastrous, since they had to work together. Patrick sat up straight.

"Right. Let's decide on some moves."

*

They almost missed the start of the contest, deep in conversation, laughing, teasing, flirting. But someone passing them shouted to a friend that he was heading downstairs to watch the dance contest and they jumped up and ran.

They arrived at the dance floor flushed and breathing fast and Phil handed their entry slip to a judge, while the DJ reminded everyone of the way it worked. Only those with an entry number allowed on the floor, he said. Everyone else, beat it. Judges would circulate. If they tapped you on the shoulder, get off the floor, and no whining. Be a man about it.

Sensual, Patrick thought, as Phil took his hand and led him to a space on the dance floor. Sexy, without being too naughty. Perhaps he should think about Simon while they danced. Or would that lead to too much sexiness of the naughty variety?

The music, muted while the DJ made his announcements, crashed back in with a hot, pounding rhythm, signalling the start of the contest. Patrick let the bass flow through him and set his feet moving. Though they'd discussed a few moves they had no real routine, unlike some of the couples. Freestyle. Just follow the music, let it lead you. But they had to be sure to interact, he knew. The prize was for best couple, not individual.

They had no routine, but they had a theme for the dance, a narrative. Patrick seducing, Phil resisting, gradually weakening, giving in to the allure.

"Use your hair," Phil said in Patrick's ear when they were close for a second.

Oh yeah - the hair. Now what was sensual. He leaned right back then, spine arching like a cat, Phil hanging onto his waist, until his hair actually brushed the floor. When he straightened up he saw the floor was far more thinly populated now. At least half of their rivals gone. He turned, his back pressed up against Phil, bodies swaying as the rhythm of the music slowed, pounding like a great heartbeat.

Was Phil hard? Felt like it. Should bloody well hope so! Phil leaned in close to kiss Patrick's neck - was that against the rules? His voice in Patrick's ear, a moan.

"Oh God, Patrick, I want you so much."

Simon had said those words. That day. That first time. His body pressed Patrick down onto the bed, so heavy. The thrill of it. The terror of it. Both drove Patrick almost out of his mind. No matter how much he'd dreamt of it, fantasised about Simon making love to him, nothing could have prepared him for the mind-wiping intensity of the real thing.

Phil couldn't know the memory he'd invoked with those words. He must have intended to encourage Patrick to new heights of sensuality in the dance with with them and succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. Patrick saw his eyes go wide as...

Someone tapped Patrick on the shoulder and he could have howled in outrage. But when he turned a young guy was grinning at him and holding out a couple of ridiculous gold rosettes, with the Circle's logo in the middle of them and WINNER in big letters written across that.

So he did howl then - in triumph, before grabbing Phil's shirt and pulling him in to kiss him. Phil gasped into his mouth, but the victory kiss was over in a second and the judge was pinning the rosettes on them. He led them across the now empty dance floor. Patrick could barely make out the crowd around the edges of the floor, but could hear them, cheering and whistling. He waved back, laughing like an idiot as he and Phil climbed up into the DJ booth.

There they each got a handshake, an envelope and a huge champagne bottle, from a well muscled guy in his thirties. Patrick had no clue who he was, but hugged him anyway, feeling as drunk as if he'd already downed the whole magnum of champagne, while the DJ asked for a big hand please for Pat and Phil and aren't they so cute together. Whistles and yells of approval greeted his words.

"We won!" Patrick yelled, hugging Phil again, laughing like an idiot. Phil slapped him on the back as they embraced, but stepped away quickly, his face already sober again, not adrenaline crazed like Patrick.

As the DJ turned up the music and the dance floor filled up again, the big guy who'd given them their prize led Patrick and Phil down from the DJ booth. He kept hold of Patrick's arm when they reached the bottom of the steps and spoke, close to his ear.

"I'm Ray, the manager of the club. Could I have a word with you?"

"What about?"

"Easier to talk in my office." Ray gestured to the young guy who'd led them from the floor, giving him Patrick's bottle. "Take care of this. And get some glasses for their group."

He didn't take Phil's which must mean Phil wasn't invited. Patrick shrugged and waved to Phil, who watched frowning, as Patrick followed Ray though the crowd. They passed through a door marked Private and into a corridor with bare brick walls and industrial carpet tiles. Ray led him to an office and closed the door.

What's this guy after then? Patrick became wary as his excitement receded. Did he want a private dance? He eyed the man critically. Mid-thirties, short cropped blonde hair, good shape. Really good shape. Had to be a rugby player - built like a tank! Would I? Patrick wondered. Ray was older than the guys he'd been seeing the last few months, but no older than Simon.

"Hi," Ray said, offering his hand for a proper introduction now. "Ray Bennett. Like I said, I'm the manager of the Circle. Well done on your win."

"Thanks. Patrick Kavanagh." Pat shook the big hand offered him. Ray had a careful handshake - one designed not to crush the other party too much.

"Patrick Kavanagh?" Ray smiled. "I'd say that sounds like a fine Irish name, but you don't sound like a fine Irish lad."

"Brought up in London. My dad was half-Irish." Maybe he should have a T-Shirt printed. 'Yes, I have an Irish name. No, I don't sound Irish.'

"Well, sit down, Patrick. Can I offer you a drink?" He had a drinks tray on a cabinet behind his desk.

"Sure. Whatever you're having," Patrick said, not sitting down. Still too hyper to sit, but gradually sobering and becoming more cautious. Ray poured them both whisky and dropped a couple of ice cubes into the glasses. After he took the glass, Patrick waited for just a second to see Ray drink first, then sipped his own. The smooth taste of the undiluted spirit surprised him. This was the good stuff.

"I've seen you in the club with your friends a lot the last few weeks," Ray said, going to sit at his desk. "Though you're new to that group I think."

Patrick frowned. "You've been watching me?"

"This is a small community. I soon get to know the regulars. And someone who looks like you stands out."

Here comes the pass. He affected disinterest and wandered over to look at some photographs on the wall. Some were of Ray and celebrities in the club. One guy showed up in several pictures, often with Ray's arm around him. A tall, skinny guy, maybe a little older than Ray, with hair as long as Patrick's, but a rich reddish brown colour.

"You dance really well," Ray said.

Patrick didn't turn away from the pictures. There was one of a younger Ray in combat gear, carrying what was either the world's most convincing paint ball gun, or a real fuck off assault rifle. The ensemble was topped with a dark red beret with a winged cap badge.

"You were in the Paras?" Patrick said, awestruck. Was Ray not gay then? Or had he been tossed out of the Army for being gay? Did they still do that?

"Yes. Are you a trained dancer?"

"Dancer? No. You were really in the Paras?"

"Yes. Would you like a job?"

"What?" Patrick felt dazed. "In the Paras?"

Ray laughed. "Ah, no. Good grief, no!" He paused, chuckling. "Look, can we try just one conversation at a time?"

Patrick sat down, suddenly feeling safer. Ray couldn't be gay if he'd been a paratrooper, surely? Those guys were hard as nails! There was that man in the other pictures that Ray had his arm round a lot... but hell, that could be his brother or something. No doubt if someone looked through Patrick's photograph albums they'd find a load of pictures of him with his arm around Nick.

"I want to offer you a job as a dancer, here at the club," Ray said.

"You pay people to dance here?" Patrick said, baffled.

"It can get quiet during the week. You young lads are saving up the money for the weekend, and without something... nice to look at, the older crowd thins out too. So we employ dancers. You dance on platforms around the dance floor. Sometimes, during special party nights, we have a couple of cages."

"Cages!"

Ray held up a hand. "Don't worry, I'd never ask you to go in a cage if you didn't fancy it. I get a couple of volunteers every time anyway. Some of the boys are quite kinky."

"Bloody hell!"

Ray frowned and looked concerned. Damn, I'm acting like a know-nothing kid, Patrick thought. He took a gulp of his whisky, which made his eyes water.

"Patrick, if you're not comfortable with the idea, I won't press you."

"No, it's fine. I mean the cages sounds a bit weird, but the rest sounds okay. Unless... I mean, men don't pay to dance with me, or for me to dance... you know... for them."

"This isn't that kind of place." Ray's voice was serious.

Patrick suppressed a sigh of relief at that answer and thought of another question. "What do I have to wear?"

"Same kind of thing as you're wearing right now. A boy as nice looking as you doesn't have to get attention by wearing skimpy shorts and a crop top." He hesitated a moment and his cheeks flushed, before he cleared his throat and went on. "Um, yes. You'll get plenty of attention just as you are."

Patrick stood up again, confused. Was Ray gay after all? Patrick got a vibe from him. Though quite guarded he sometimes looked at Patrick the way many men in the club did.

"So, um, what's the pay?" Ray told him and Patrick nodded. A decent amount, certainly a nice supplement to his income and for doing something he loved anyway. "I like the sound of it. But what about Phil? The guy I was dancing with. Why aren't you offering him a job? He's as good a dancer as me. Better even."

"He isn't good looking enough." When Patrick frowned at him, Ray shrugged, with an apologetic look in his face. "Phil is a fine dancer, I've noticed him before, and if he had your looks I'd offer him a job in a second. But he wouldn't draw the customers in the way you will. I'm sorry, that's just the way thing are."

Patrick considered telling him where to stick his job, if that's the way things were. But he really could use the money. Well, Phil could too, but could he spare the time away from taking care of his sick mother? They probably got some kind of benefits too and if Phil had another income maybe those would be cut, leaving him and his mother no better off. No, Phil wouldn't even want the job.

"Okay, I'll take it." Patrick strode to the desk, to shake Ray's hand. Ray hastily transferred the whisky glass to his left hand and Patrick noticed the gold band on his ring finger on the left. Oh, what the fuck? He's married?

"Good to hear it. Why don't you pop in Saturday afternoon and we'll do all the paperwork? But now you should get back to your friends. It'll be midnight soon and they're probably drinking your champagne."

"Okay. See you Saturday and thanks." He flashed his best smile at his new employer. "Happy new year."

He'd just reached the door, when Ray's quiet voice made him turn back.

"This is all pretty new to you isn't it, Patrick?"

"Yes," Patrick said, surprised at his perception. "I... I'm still trying to figure everything out."

Ray chuckled softly. "Me too, lad, me too."

*

"So, what do you think?"

"About what?" Phil said, looking at Patrick across the small metal table where they sat drinking coffee outside the snack bar at work.

"About what I was just saying. About Ray. Do you think he's gay or not?" Patrick still hadn't decided, even after spending an hour with the man on Saturday afternoon, filling in paperwork and getting a full tour of the club, including all the behind the scenes areas.

"Oh, that," Phil said. "Well he must be, he runs a gay club. Why would a straight guy want to run a gay club?"

"For the money?" Patrick said, but then shook his head. "Though Ray doesn't seem that sort. He seems nice."

Phil sipped his coffee, looking away across the atrium they sat in. He'd been quiet and grumpy all morning, and looked as if he'd had little sleep. Patrick hoped things were okay with his mother. Or maybe he was still hung over from New Year's Eve. That party had gone on late.

"Can't you tell anyway?" Phil said, looking back at Patrick.

"How am I supposed to tell?"

"You know..." Phil raised his hands and wriggled his fingers near his head. "Gaydar."

"Yeah, but what does that actually mean? What is it that my supposed gaydar is picking up to tell me?"

Phil shrugged. "I don't know. Comes naturally eventually, I think. Maybe you just need more time to develop it."

"Yeah," Patrick said, laughing. "I don't think my gaydar is very sensitive yet."

"Ya think?" Phil muttered.

"What?"

"Never mind. So how come I didn't get invited in for drinks and job offers? I won that contest too. Not that I'd have taken it, but it's nice to be asked."

Patrick at least had enough sensitivity to be diplomatic. "Maybe there was only the one position available," he said.

"And you got it." Phil gave a cynical laugh. "Any other positions mentioned while you were in there?"

"Phil! I told you, Ray's not like that. Even if he is gay I mean, I don't think he'd be like that."

"Oh, yeah. He has a bunch of hot young guys working for him and controls how much they get paid. I'm sure he's never taken advantage of that."

"You're in a foul mood today, Phil."

"It's Monday. I fucking hate Mondays."