Identity Check

Chapter 8

The 'Ray - is he or isn't he?' question got resolved after Patrick's first shift. He went backstage to grab his coat from the dressing room the dancers used. On his way out he passed Ray's office and seeing the door open, popped his head in to say hi.

Ray wasn't alone. A man Patrick recognised as the long-haired man from the photographs was sitting on the other side of the desk while Ray tapped away at the keyboard.

"Oh, sorry to interrupt, Ray. Just saying goodnight."

"That's okay," Ray said. "Come in. Tom, this is Patrick."

Tom stood as Patrick entered and offered his hand and a smile. "Hi, Patrick. I'm Tom Wright, Ray's partner. He's mentioned you. New boy, right?"

Partner, ah, there it was. Unless Tom ran the club with Ray - and Patrick had never seen him here before - then 'partner' could only mean one thing. But what about the wedding ring? Patrick finally got it when he saw that Tom wore one too. Oh, you blockhead. They are married - to each other. They're in a Civil Partnership.

"Hi, Tom," Patrick said, shaking Tom's hand, noticing surprisingly long nails. "Nice to meet you. Yeah, I'm new. It was my first shift tonight."

"Nice coat," Tom said.

"Oh, ah, thanks." He brushed the lapel of his long winter coat. Tom sat again, and Patrick saw a guitar case beside his chair, which explained the long fingernails.

"You're a musician?"

"That's right," Tom said. "You musical at all?"

"Tom..." Ray said, with a warning tone in this voice. No, more a sort of 'don't start' tone, Patrick thought, smiling.

"Just asking," Tom protested. "If he's a good dancer he's got the musical gene."

"I play the piano," Patrick said.

"Do any grades?"

"I was working on my grade seven when I, ah, when I left home." He sighed, realising just now how much he missed it. "I haven't played for months. I don't have a piano now."

"Well, that's just a waste," Tom said. "I've got a piano. You can pop round and use my instrument any time." He winked and Patrick laughed and blushed at the same time.

Ray rolled his eyes. "Buzz off, Tom, you're going to be late for your gig."

Tom glanced at his watch and shrugged. "Yeah, better go." He stood, picking up his guitar case. "Patrick, nice to meet you. Ray, invite the boy over for dinner one night. He's gorgeous and I want to feed him." He left, with another wink at Patrick.

"Don't mind Tom," Ray said, looking embarrassed. "He's just messing about."

"I've no objection to being called gorgeous," Pat said with a grin.

"Bet you've no objection to some free food either."

"Oh you don't have to..."

Ray waved a hand, turning back to his PC. "Oh, you're very welcome. I take most Mondays off. If you have a free Monday let me know and we'll set an extra place." He clicked his mouse a couple of times and looked back at Patrick. "You're always welcome. Same here at the club. My door's always open, if you ever want to talk."

Patrick hesitated. He should get home, but... Ray saw that hesitation. He stood up and poured two glasses of whisky, just like last time. Patrick slipped off his coat and took the glass Ray offered him.

"I shouldn't develop a taste for this stuff. It's way out of my budget."

"It's never too soon for a man to develop a taste for a good single malt." Ray sat in his chair again, while Patrick sat on the edge of the desk.

"So how was your first shift?" Ray asked.

"Oh fine. Fun in fact."

"Anybody give you any hassle?"

"No. Security took good care of me. They're really well trained."

Ray nodded, smiling. "Yes. I take pride in that."

"Some of them are ex-forces, like you, right?"

"You can tell that?"

"The way they call you 'Sergeant' is kind of a give-away."

Ray chuckled. "It would be, yes."

Patrick sipped his whisky, looking around the room, then back at Ray. "Um, can I ask you something?"

"You can ask," Ray said, his tone wary.

"Are you Catholic?"

Ray stared at him, as if that was the last question he'd expected. "Now how did you spot that one?"

Patrick chuckled. "My gaydar may not be very sensitive yet, but the old left-footer detector has had a lot more fine tuning."

That made Ray grin. "Left footer? Haven't heard that one since I was still in the Army."

"How long were you in the Army?"

Ray sat back in his chair. "Nearly fifteen years."

"Was it... difficult, being gay and in the Army I mean?"

"It's... not that straightforward. I was kind of a late developer. It was only the last couple of years of my time in the Army that I even thought of myself as gay." He sat in silence for a moment, a distant look in his eyes. But he put on a smile when he turned back to Patrick. "Just be glad you're starting early on figuring it out. I wasted a lot of years hiding from myself. Don't make the same mistake."

Patrick looked down for a while, contemplating that advice. It sounded good to him. Make the most of the opportunities he had. The opportunities that the men who came before him didn't have. The edge of the desk got too uncomfortable to sit on and he wandered over to look at the pictures on the wall again. Behind him he heard clicking and tapping as Ray went back to working, waiting for Patrick's next move.

One of the pictures showed Ray and Tom, wearing good suits, with flowers pinned to the lapels. Patrick called himself a blockhead again for not spotting what was clearly a wedding photograph.

"How long have you and Tom been together?"

"Three years."

"When did you get..." Could he say the word? Married? He knew what his mother thought of the notion of men marrying each other. An insult, a blasphemy.

"I can't say it either," Ray said softly. Patrick turned to him. "The 'M' word," he said, smiling. "We got the Civil Partnership just over a year ago now."

"That's... I know what you mean about having a problem with the word. But still, even if it's not marriage, it's... it's huge, when you think of it." Aw hell, he didn't have to tell Ray that. He knew better than Patrick - even if he was a late developer.

"It's huge, yes. And it's not something you need to even think about for years yet," he added. "Before you settle down with one man."

"One man?" Patrick remembered what Russ had told him about gay couples. "Do you mean that literally?"

Ray hesitated and Patrick feared the question was too personal. But he nodded and answered. "Tom and I are exclusive, yes. That surprises you?"

"Well, someone told me that gay couples usually have an open relationship."

"Usually isn't always."

"And you stick to it?" Oh god! What the hell kind of question was that? He blushed at letting his mouth run away with him, when he saw a startled look in Ray's eyes. "I'm sorry, that's none of my business."

"That's okay." Ray chuckled. "I like your bluntness, Patrick. It's like being back in the Army. Nobody there was ever... diplomatic."

"The thought of me in the Army is pretty fucking hilarious."

"With that hair, yes. But to answer you, yes, I - we - stick to it."

Patrick nodded slowly, taking this all in. Exclusivity. Ignoring those opportunities. Amazing.

"Don't you feel deprived sometimes?"

"Now and again. But there's something so special about it. To devote that side of yourself to just one person and know they're doing the same for you. There's something very special indeed about that." He laughed then, shaking off his serious tone. "And like I said, lots of time for you to think about that later. Get off home with you now, lad."

Patrick nodded, mind still too busy with what Ray had said to talk much. He finished the whisky, slipped on his coat and said goodnight. Walking through the dark streets, his breath misting in the cold air, his mind chased itself in circles around the word 'exclusive.'

*

Ray had told him that the crowd during the week was generally older, and Patrick soon discovered that was true, after he spent a few shifts with those men watching him. Some of them creeped him out to be honest. They looked a bit too hungry. But the bouncers kept any of them from doing more than watching, including when he came down off the platform for a break or at the end of his shift. He'd accept a drink here and there, but Ray wasn't paying him to pick men up, so he tried to keep his mind on work.

Until one night a couple of weeks after he started. Dancing up there as usual, mind wandering to the fact he really needed to get out of work early tomorrow so he could collect his coat from the dry cleaner's, he caught the eyes of a guy watching him. Now this one stood out. Younger than most of the crowd, mid-twenties. Thick, dark hair, nice tan, good-looking. When their eyes met, the man smiled, slow and sensual, held up his glass, then turned and headed towards the bar. The music changed, segued into a new song and Patrick took that cue to come down from his platform.

"Taking a break," he called, slapping hands with the bouncer standing nearby and heading to the bar.

When Patrick reached the bar he found the man who'd caught his eye standing with two fluted glasses at his elbow and the barman opening a bottle of champagne.

"Hi," Patrick said. "I'm -"

"Patrick. Yes, I know. Everyone knows the dream boy. I'm David."

"Dream boy?" That jogged a memory he couldn't quite place.

David leaned in close, to whisper in his ear. "Am I sleeping, or are you real, dream boy?"

Patrick gasped and pulled back staring. "That was you?"

David just smiled and handed him a glass of champagne.

"That was my first night in here." Patrick said. "My first night in any kind of gay club. Wow!" All those months ago David had spoken to him, on that first night and now they had made contact. That had to be some kind of... fate? He took a big gulp of champagne. Like Ray's single malt, he could get used to this stuff.

"So you're still quite new to all this?" David asked. He had a cultured voice, with a hint of local accent livening it up. His clothes were expensive, but elegant and understated, rather than flashy designer wear. For an instant that reminded Patrick of his mother's style, but he dismissed such comparisons as fast as possible. He really didn't need to be thinking about his mother alongside fantasies of what he'd like this guy to do to him.

David raised his glass again and Patrick noticed his manicured nails, though those were only a momentary distraction from his body. Patrick's eyes kept going back to the broad shoulders and muscular arms, shown off by cap sleeves, and the slim waist and hips. He'd be willing to bet that David's shirt hid a fine six-pack. He swallowed the rest of his chilled champagne. Damn, so hot in here. David refilled their glasses.

"Um..." Patrick said, finally answering David's question about being new to all this. "Yes, I'm pretty new. I just came to live here a few months ago. From a village in Yorkshire."

"And were you the only gay in the village?" David asked, with a sparkle in his dark brown eyes. Patrick wanted to lose himself in the darkness of those eyes.

"Just about."

David leaned close again and whispered in his ear, in that throaty voice he'd used earlier. "Perhaps when you finish work, we can finish this champagne together?"

"I get off at ten-thirty." And hopefully again quite soon afterwards.

"I'll wait right here," David said. He leaned against the bar, settling in, his pose almost relaxed, but with a hint of tension in it. Impatient for Patrick to return.

Patrick didn't even want to leave, but he finished his champagne and returned to his podium. Back to work. He kept looking towards the bar, even though he couldn't see David, with the lights dazzling him, and too many people in the way. But he pictured him. Pictured him watching Patrick. Pictured that muscular body, and those deep, dark eyes.

The clock crawled around to ten-thirty and Patrick jumped down when another dancer came and took his place. He pushed through the crowd towards the bar. What if David wasn't there? What if he'd met some other boy in the meantime? Or got bored with waiting? Or figured Patrick wasn't such a dream after all? He winced as he recalled their earlier conversation. He hadn't said anything remotely interesting or intelligent to David. Too busy ogling the guy.

But David was there, sitting on a high bar stool, the champagne bottle still on the bar beside him. He poured the last of it into a glass and handed it to Patrick as he approached.

"I saved the last glass for you."

"You didn't have to do that."

"It's okay." He slid off the bar stool and pushed it away, stood close to Patrick. "Champagne is best shared." He leaned in to whisper again and his breath stirred Patrick's hair, sending a thrill running through him. "I'd like to share a few more things with you, dream boy. Like my bed."

Patrick gulped, in anticipation and even fear. Not of the sex, quite used to that now and to such direct approaches. But fear of his own response, because his mind was racing ahead, beyond tonight. This man was something else, something different. His voice and his touch made Patrick's knees weak and sent his stomach doing flips.

This would not be a one night stand, he decided, however absurd it felt to make such plans now. This would be something more. David is not going to be just another fuck buddy.

"I... I'll go get my coat," Patrick said. "It's backstage. Meet you outside the front door in five minutes?"

"See you there."

Patrick headed backstage fast.

"Hey, Pat, you have a visitor," one of the other dancers said, coming out of the dancers' dressing room as Patrick approached.

"A visitor? Who?" For an insane moment he thought of Simon. Of all the nights for Simon to show up...

"I think it's Captain Jack Harkness," the other dancer said, grinning, and hurried away.

Baffled at that, Patrick went into the dressing room to find Colin, with his feet up, and a steaming mug in his hand. He wore the RAF greatcoat. Patrick snorted. Jack Harkness indeed. In his dreams.

"What are you doing here, Colin?"

"Just passing."

"Passing?" Unlikely. The Pink Triangle was on the edge of the city centre. Nothing beyond it that Colin would be going to at this time of night. "You came in to have a nose around, didn't you?"

"Busted." Colin grinned, and had the grace to look at least a little sheepish. Patrick scowled at him and went to find his jacket on the rack.

"What did you think you were going to see? Serve you right if you caught the gay." But he smiled, shaking his head, remembering that only a few months ago he'd had just as many foolish ideas about the goings-on in a gay club.

"Evening, Patrick, still here?" Ray's voice came from behind him. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, hi, Ray. This is my house-mate Colin Parker." Colin waved and said, "Hi," to Ray. "He came in to take a look at what the gays get up to," Patrick went on. "I think he's kind of disappointed."

"Yeah, distinct lack of debauchery," Colin said.

"Well..." Patrick said, putting his jacket on. "I've got to go."

"Hang on, Patrick," Ray said. "Didn't you mention Colin was looking for bar work? I've got some openings, if you're still looking, Colin. Want a trial for a week?"

"Work here?" Colin said. "But, um, it's a gay club. I'm not gay."

Patrick clicked his tongue. "That's not actually a job requirement, you idiot."

Colin glared at him. "I'm going home and setting your bed on fire."

"Don't worry, Colin," Ray said, "there's a few straight lads work here. I probably get more work out of them than the gay ones, since they don't spend all night chatting up the customers."

Patrick blushed. Had Ray seen him talking to David? Had he spent too long talking to him? Been distracted from his work?

"Well, what if the customers try to chat me up?" Colin asked.

"Just tell them you're busy."

"Well... I'm not sure..."

"Look," Patrick said. "You guys discuss it, I have to go."

"Aren't you coming home?" Colin said.

"Not right now." He blushed, not wanting to share the details. Did he have to draw a damn picture? "See you later." He headed out of the room.

"Don't forget you've got work in the morning," Colin called after him.

"Yeah, yeah."

Right now, work was about the second-to-last thing on his mind.