Careful not to wake Beckett, Noah leaned in and kissed his friend’s slack lips. As soft as the gesture was, it was like a dagger thrust straight into Noah’s heart. Everything he was supposed to feel for Marcus stirred within him, like iron filings quivering at the introduction of a new magnet that they were desperate to fly to. Beckett was that magnet. He drew things out of Noah that made him ache and squirm.
Beckett slept on, unaware of the turmoil in Noah’s heart. Noah brushed his fingertips over the side of his friend’s face. Beckett twitched, but didn’t wake. That made Noah smile. His friend was so good. Beckett was far better than him, far better than almost any other man he’d ever known. And he was an amazing lover. He got just as carried away with passion as Noah did. The two of them had made each other feel things that would have shocked and shamed most of New York, but also things that the poets would write about.
Noah’s heart throbbed in his chest as he thought about it…and tears stung at his eyes. It was wrong. It was all so, so wrong. He couldn’t be unfaithful to Marcus like that. His true love was waiting for him, biding his time, testing the strength and endurance of his love. And he’d failed. Noah was certain he’d failed utterly.
It was too much to bear. Fighting back his tears, he kissed Beckett’s lips one last time, then slowly, carefully, extracted himself from Beckett’s embrace. He rolled out of bed, and as silently as possible, he gathered up clean clothes and tip-toed out of the room and down the hall to the washroom.
He knew what he had to do. As he washed and dressed, shaved and combed his hair, he knew what the gods of true love demanded of him. He had been wicked long enough. It was time he prostrated himself at the feet of his true lover, offering himself up to whatever punishment Marcus wished to inflict on him. It was only right and fitting for him to do so.
And yet, as he donned his coat and hat and slipped out of the house before anyone, even Gardener, knew he was up, another voice whispered to him that perhaps he had the entire situation wrong. Perhaps Marcus was the illusion and Beckett was his heart’s true home. Perhaps the gods of true love had set Marcus in his path as a test of his fortitude. Beckett was the one who had taken him in, after all. Marcus had thrown him out. Everyone threw him out. Everyone but Beckett.
There were far more people up and about in the city at dawn than Noah would have imagined there would be. Almost all of them were working men and women who kept their heads down and traveled on their ways to jobs that likely drained them of what little life they had. Noah knew he wasn’t like them. He was on a mission of love, not one of labor. He was the bright and shining star that passed through the dreary clouds of workaday life.
That thought bolstered him as he rode a streetcar down Bowery and hopped off at Bleeker Street. Even Bleeker Street was humming as the first rays of morning peeked around dirty buildings and filtered into dank streetcorners. It was indeed the sort of thing poets would write about. In fact, he began composing verse in his head as he strode purposefully on toward The Slippery Slope and his true love’s home.
The door to the club was locked. For a moment, Noah stared at it in confusion. It should just open up and let him inside for the glorious scene of reunion that he knew was before him. The fact that it didn’t budge, that it didn’t matter how long he rattled the handle and tried to turn it, it wouldn’t open, loosened something dark in Noah’s breast.
“Marcus!” he shouted at the door. “Marcus, let me in! This has gone on long enough. I’m here to make my confession, do my penance, and win my way back into your heart! Marcus!”
He pounded his fist on the door, growing anxious when the club behind it remained dark and inaccessible to him. He pounded harder, certain he was right, certain he was doing the right thing. He’d left everything for Marcus. He’d made his deals with angels and devils that if he gave up everything, he could have Marcus again. He could have the love he knew he was destined for, the love he deserved.
“Marcus!” he continued to shout and pound on the door until his hand started to turn red. “Marcus, please!”
People on the street had noticed his efforts. He could feel their eyes on his back as he wept and pleaded with the locked door. It was as if the door were mocking him and the people behind him wouldn’t do a damned thing about it.
It wasn’t just the people behind him, it was the whispers inside of him. The whispers told him he was a damned fool, that Marcus didn’t want him, that Beckett wouldn’t want him either. Those voices told him he was good for nothing, that he would be cast out wherever he went, that the best thing for everyone would be if he would step in front of a racing carriage and do the world a favor.
A light came on within the club. Noah gasped and stood straighter as he saw its hazy outline through the small, murky window in the front door.
“Marcus!” He redoubled his efforts, pounding furiously to be let in. “Marcus, I love you! I love you!”
Moments later, the club’s door swung inward, nearly knocking Noah off-balance, and the imposing figure of Alonzo Russo stood in its place. Noah spotted Ricky DeMarco behind him.
“What are you doing here at this ungodly hour, Noah?” Russo grumbled. “It’s barely six in the morning. The club is closed.”
“Marcus,” Noah gasped. “I must speak to Marcus.”
Somehow, he managed to push his way past Russo’s bulk to stumble into the club. He was confused and disoriented from the moment he dashed deeper into the room. It didn’t look or feel like it was supposed to look. It was just a bunch of tables with chairs piled on top, and it was empty.
“Marcus?” he shouted, suddenly terrified and shaking. “Where is he? What have you done with him? Has…has that devil, Jasper Werther killed him?” Noah panicked at the idea.
“Where is Beckett, Noah?” Russo asked angrily, approaching Noah too swiftly.
Noah flinched and ran around one of the tables, putting it between him and the giant of a man. “Leave me alone,” he said, tempted to grab one of the chairs to use it as a weapon to defend himself. “I’m here for Marcus. He loves me and I love him.”
“Where. Is. Beckett?” Russo repeated, his eyes ablaze with irritation.
“I don’t know,” Noah said, suddenly confused about where he’d left his friend. “At home,” he said, then shook his head. “I need to see Marcus. Marcus loves me. He’ll make everything right as rain again.”
Russo let out an impatient sigh and turned to Ricky. “Go fetch Beckett. Tell him it’s urgent. Take a cab if you have to, there’s money behind the bar.”
Noah was only barely aware of Ricky rushing to the bar, then leaving the club. “I have to speak to Marcus,” he said, emotion and shame overwhelming him. “I’ve done something terrible. I…I need to speak to him, to confess, and to have him forgive me. Please. Please help me.”
“What the devil is going on down here?” Ravenswood’s furious voice rang in Noah’s ears a moment later. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
Noah cowered in on himself as Russo replied irritably, “He just showed up. He was banging on the door for fifteen minutes, and he wouldn’t stop. He’s asking for Marcus.”
“Of course he is,” Ravenswood sighed. “Well, he’s probably heard the noise along with everyone else in the building, and he’s likely on his way down.”