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The first time he’d seen Alain, Simon had taken in a sharp breath. And held it for who knew how long. Tall. Broad shoulders under a fine gray suit jacket. Yves St. Laurent, he learned later. From Frost Brothers. Very high-end. Made his casual walk along an aisle of dust-ridden paperbacks even more elegant, and seemed to emphasize the perfection of his legs. Seen from behind.
Then he'd turned to come back another aisle, showing off a soft pink shirt and flashy tie which only enhanced the exquisite features of his face. Ice blue eyes. Lips pursed in just the right way. Clean chin sculpted by the heavens. He had to be an apparition, he was so gorgeous.
He'd stopped in the action/adventure section of titles and picked up a new copy of Arthur Hailey’s The Moneychangers.
Without thinking, Simon had called over, “That’s a good one. He wrote Airport, too.”
Alain had glanced at him, picked up a slightly yellowed copy of that book and held it up for Simon to see. One eyebrow perfectly raised in question.
Simon had nodded, feeling completely idiotic.
Alain had brought both over and said, “Haven’t seen the movie.”
“It was on TV, last year. Maybe they’ll show it, again. Will that be all?”
Then came a gentle nod...and Simon had noticed Alain's eyes were looking straight at him.
“Uh, that’ll four-twenty-eight,” Simon murmured as he slipped the books into a bag.
Alain had paid with a five, saying, “You new?”
“What?”
“Haven’t seen you here, before.”
“Oh. Yeah. Just started. Part-time.” Why did he tell him that?
Alain had nodded, accepting his change. “Still in high-school?”
“No. No, Graduated in May. SAC. San Antonio College.” More stupid words.
But then Alain had looked him over like a cat eyeing a mouse it’s about to have for its dinner, and smiled. “I’m familiar with it. So you work nights?”
Simon just nodded.
“Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Then he licked his lips, winked, and walked out the door.
And for the next three weeks Simon kept hoping he’d walk back in.
Which he finally did, just before closing, dressed in a fine pullover shirt and tan slacks. It was still too warm for a jacket. He went to the adult magazines and picked through them, finally choosing a Playgirl and ignoring the glances cast his way by a couple of older men in rougher clothing who were pawing Playboy and Penthouse.
Then ten o’clock came and Simon told him, “I’m closing, now.”
He’d looked around, smiling. “Just you here?”
imon nodded. “Only a few hours...a night...”
“Seems dangerous. Uncomfortable.”
“Nobody’s gonna rob this place. Get maybe fifty bucks.”
“But you’re good-lookin’. They might take advantage of you.”
Simon had no answer to that...until Alain reached over, put a finger through a belt loop in his jeans, and pulled him close.
“Is there anyplace they could?”
Simon still had no words, but did manage to motion to a door in the back.
“So maybe lock the door?” said Alain.
Simon did, and Alain took him into the back where there was a table at hip level. They used it to sort magazines. Behind it were stairs up to a cluttered office...but Alain didn’t let him go up them.
He leaned Simon back against the table and kissed him.
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