Xylophone (3 page)

even more than the audience,” Bob had told him.

“Or at least pretend to. We set the mood as much

as the music does.” Dare understood perfectly.

He’d been performing in one capacity or another

for the past decade, and he knew any kind of

performance had to be sold. So he let the music

carry him, and he swayed as he played.

At the edges of his vision, colors swirled. He

fancied he stood before a tank in which polyester

fish swam. A floral-print blouse glided by, then a

lime-colored knit shirt; a pair of striped

suspenders, then a flamingo-pink jacket. Costume

jewelry occasionally twinkled or sent out spears

of light. The dancers moved in buoyant, interlinked

circles, but not hectically so. They meted out their

energy.

Just to change things up, the Doodles

interspersed

their

signature

polkas

with

schottisches and waltzes. The couples on the dance

floor were versatile.

Dare’s first solo, which came during the

“Fascination Waltz,” was approaching. Bob had

rearranged the playlist so Dare could sit out the

song preceding it. Not that he needed to—he was

twenty-six, not seventy-six, and in excellent shape

—but he was grateful for the break. The “Too Fat

Polka,” otherwise known as “She’s Too Fat for

Me,” came right before “Fascination,” and it

featured Bob on the glockenspiel.

The look and sound of the instrument

undermined Dare’s concentration. He didn’t think

he’d be able to play along with it, not while his

whole digestive tract knotted at intervals like a

climbing rope.

With great relief, he took a seat toward the

rear of the stage while Bob and the guys hammed it

up during “Too Fat.” A gleefully offensive song, it

was nevertheless a crowd favorite. The Doodles’

fans had grown up in an era when political

correctness was pretty much restricted to not using

the N word.

Unperturbed by the song’s lyrics, the dancers

continued their shuffling, 2/4 gallop around the

pavilion. Dare watched them and tried to enjoy

their enjoyment instead of watching Bob. He

listened to the singing rather than the tinkling of the

glock. One large, jovial lady embraced the tune

with exuberance, nearly flinging her much thinner

partner into one of the tables that bordered the

dance floor.

Smiling, Dare tapped his foot and sipped

water, the bell of his upright clarinet resting on his

thigh. Occasionally, instinctually, he licked the

reed to keep it moist. A calm confidence displaced

his nervous tension. The day was awash in early-

autumn sunshine, the crowd seemed merry, and the

band had been ticking along like a fine Swiss

timepiece.

His past had no place here. With that

realization, his frame of mind shifted, squaring

itself. The pavilion was a family place full of low-

keyed fun, and he was making a singular

contribution to its ambience.

Dare had practiced “Fascination” like crazy,

alone and with Bob. The accordionist played the

first verse, the clarinetist played the first chorus,

then they played together for the second verse and

chorus while the drummer softly worked his snare

and cymbal with wire brushes. It was quite pretty

and was Dare’s favorite song with the Doodles.

He was looking forward to showing off his

long-buried musical talent.

As the “Too Fat Polka” ended, Dare got up to

join Bob at the front of the stage. Bob introduced

him to the audience, then intro’d the waltz and

began to play. No vocals; the song was lovelier

without them.

Seconds after the music began, Dare saw

something he hadn’t expected to see. Not in the

least. Not here. A young man about his age swept

past the low stage with an elderly woman in his

formally-positioned arms. For the briefest moment,

the dancer’s shamrock-green gaze caught the

clarinetist’s stare.

The guy wasn’t what Dare considered a

knockout. He was well groomed in a straitlaced

way, and his dance partner only intensified that

image. Maybe it was simply his gender and age

that set him apart. The only people under forty here

were kids, mostly little girls. There didn’t seem to

be another fit young man on the premises.

When Dare’s portion of “Fascination” came

up, his focus snapped back to the sheet music. His

tonguing was crisp. His fingering was sure. The

notes slid out of the clarinet like liquid copper,

with just the right tempo and subtle shifts in

volume. Toward the end of his section he looked

up again. His gaze immediately lit on the same guy

he’d noticed earlier.

Dare thought there was something vaguely

obscene about his eyes following the man’s

movement around the dance floor while he had his

lips tightened around a long, tubular object. He

ushered the notion out of his mind. In actuality, his

lips were tightened around a mouthpiece, which

wasn’t very phallic, and he was maintaining a

good embouchure. That had
never
been a

consideration when he’d had dick in his mouth. In

fact, a good embouchure would’ve been at odds

with a good blowjob.

Still, Dare couldn’t keep his mind out of the

gutter.

The waltz continued, lilting and poignant.

Dare didn’t have to keep his attention glued to the

music. He all but had it memorized. So he

continued to let his gaze stray to the twenty-

something male dancer.

Average face, average hair, average build.

Slender, and a little taller than Dare’s five-foot-

nine. Hm, maybe not entirely average. The guy

wore gray wool suit pants that made his ass look

like a million bucks—a delectably dirty million, at

least in Dare’s manloving eyes—and a tailored

trim-fit shirt in lilac. He knew how to emphasize

the lines of his body, no doubt about it, and knew

how to move with assurance and grace.

Assets aside, the dancer was hardly worth

Dare’s attention. In all likelihood he was some

uptight, boring-as-beet-juice straight dude. If he

wasn’t, he wouldn’t be here, looking like he’d just

come from church and leading an old woman

through an old waltz. He’d only caught Dare’s eye

because he was an anomaly in this place.

And because Dare was a tad horny.

The

band’s

first

break

came

after

“Fascination.” Dare had no idea if there was some

protocol for breaks—retreat to the kitchen,

socialize with the audience, creep out to the rear

parking area and smoke weed; what did he know?

—so he took his cues from the other members.

As Bob divested himself of Lucille, he leaned

toward Dare and mumbled, “Better head for the

potty, little boy. If you don’t want to be swamped

by fans, you can use the bathroom back in the

kitchen.”

“I assume you’re being facetious,” Dare said.

“And
I
assume you forgot what I told you

about using ten-dollar words around two-bit guys.”

Junior and Ernie had already headed for the

kitchen. Mad Max was at the bar, drinking

something on the rocks. Bob made for the tables,

all glad hands and grins. He wasn’t really a gruff

asshole, just liked to act the part when he wanted

to get some point across.

Dare didn’t feel like circulating. This was

hardly his natural milieu. After laying his clarinet

on a chair, he descended the stage steps to seek

refuge in the kitchen.

“Excuse me.” The voice was soft and

tentative. And male.

Dare turned his head to the left. Reflexively,

his eyebrows rose. Rich green eyes held his gaze.

“Just wanted to tell you what a great addition

you are to the band.” The young man,
that
young

man, immediately blushed. “I mean your clarinet

playing. The waltz sounded really nice.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The guy’s timid smile

was pretty damned charming. Not seductively so,

but warm and sincere. “Is this your first time here

or your first time playing with Bob’s band?”

Christ, he had arresting eyes. And skin so

smooth it seemed to lack pores and follicles—on

his face, anyway. His hair wasn’t the common

bark-brown it had at first seemed to be. Other

shades, lighter and darker, subtly wove through it.

Yeah, this was definitely somebody who

required more than a passing glance to be

appreciated.

“Both,” Dare said. “It’s my first time with

any
band. Since dropping out of college, I mean.”

Senses sharpening, he stuck out his hand. “I’m

Dare Boothe.”

The guy nodded. “I heard Bob introduce you.

Jonah Day.” His hand slipped into Dare’s. It was a

polite clasp, not manly, not wimpy. Certainly not

suggestive. “I take GG, my grandmother, out

dancing every weekend.”

“Ah.” One question answered. “That’s

considerate of you.”

“Well….” Jonah shoved his hands in his

pockets and turned at the waist to look behind him,

probably at his grandma. Dare snuck a quick look

at his ass. What a fine piece of scenery.
Damn

fine. Slim waist, too. “She’s done a lot for me,”

Jonah said, his tone weightier than before.

A mild restlessness shivered through Dare’s

groin. He had a fleeting fantasy of rubbing his

frontside against the taut, round swell of Jonah’s

backside. To banish the image, he glanced at the

older woman, who was dressed far less

conservatively than her grandson. When he

inadvertently caught her eye, he smiled and lifted a

hand. She mirrored the greeting.

He turned back to Jonah. “So, do you live

around here?”

“Not
too
far away. I live near GG so I can

sort of look after her. We’re in Wind Lake. It’s—”

Brightening, Dare jumped in. “I know where

it is. I live in Waterford.”

“Really?” Jonah grinned—almost, it seemed,

in spite of himself. “We’re practically neighbors.

Do you, uh, live alone, or with your parents, or

have a wife and family, or…?” He pulled in his

smile. “Not that it’s any of my business, of

course.”

Dare reassuringly cupped Jonah’s arm, but

just for a second or two. “No, no, that’s okay. I

live with my older brother. Our parents offered to

let us rent the house when our dad took a position

at a hospital in San Diego last year. The place had

been up for sale a few months without any offers,

so my folks figured it would benefit all of us if

Carver and I became their renters.”

“Good idea in
this
housing market.”

“Yeah, it worked out well for the whole

family.”

“You and your brother especially,” Jonah

said. “Waterford’s become pretty gentrified.”

“Sure has. I don’t exactly fit in.” Dare hoped

that might serve as a hint that he didn’t follow the

straight-and-narrow. Just in case Jonah might be

wondering.

Jonah appealed to him. That much was

apparent. Less clear was why. Many of the

customers and all the go-go boys at the Sugar

Bowl were countless degrees hotter. And they

were openly gay, which spared interested parties

that frustrating guessing game, Is He or Isn’t He?

They drank prodigiously, laughed loudly, and

never hesitated to make their intentions known.

Okay, so maybe that was precisely
why
Jonah

appealed to Dare. He clearly wasn’t a party

animal. And Dare hadn’t hooked up with anyone in

longer than he could remember.

“I should go back to GG,” Jonah said, gracing

Dare with another smile. “Didn’t mean to

monopolize your whole break.”

“You haven’t. And I appreciate the

encouraging words.”

He forced himself not to stare as Jonah

walked away. Shit. Still no closure on the gay or

straight issue.

As it turned out, Dare had plenty of time

before the next set. The band took leisurely breaks,

and the old folks in the pavilion didn’t seem