Page 44 of Pieces of Me

Rylan promised to let her know, hugging her good-bye before closing the door behind her and leaning against it. A lot on his mind, indeed. Late rent, empty cupboards, a promising project that had yet to come to fruition and seemed doomed to failure…what did he have to celebrate exactly? The last thing he wanted to deal with was a crowd full of happy couples, men on the prowl, kiosks with obnoxious vendors hawking their wares―

Vendors! A sudden surge of hope galvanized Rylan into action. He grabbed his phone and banged out of the apartment, jogging over to the Circle K on the corner and going straight to the front window and the Help Wanted sign he was sure he’d seen there earlier.

“Yes!” He gave a mental fist pump as he spied it. “Enthusiastic, smiling faces wanted for sales work at Phoenix Pride! Two hundred dollars cash each day plus tips, nine to five,” he read. Wow, that seemed very generous, and if he worked all weekend, he could probably make enough to catch up on his rent, get a few meager groceries, and more importantly, buy himself a little more time to get his project off the ground.

He dialed the number listed for the vendor, Sloan’s Novelties, praying they hadn’t found anyone else yet. A five-minute conversation later and he had the job. Elated, Rylan couldn’t help but do a little happy dance right there in front of the store, much to the amusement of an elderly woman getting gas at the pump. He grinned at her.

“Be here Friday at eight thirty a.m. sharp,” the dude on the other end of the line said, his voice deep and gravelly. “I’ll get you outta here by five to go party, no sweat.”

“Great!” Rylan exclaimed. “But the two hundred dollars, is it a typo? I mean, that’s awesome, but―”

“Nope, no mistake. Two hundred bucks cash, plus any tips you get.”

“Yes,” Rylan hissed under his breath, and the man went on, “Lemme warn you, though, sweetheart, that you’ll work for every penny of it. It’ll be a long day on your feet, and I don’t give breaks except for a half-hour lunch. Pride is my high season and the time when I go into the black, and I only hire guys who are willing to hump it in exchange for a decent wage.”

“Oh, I can hump it with the best of them, no worries,” Rylan said, laughing, and the guy gave a mock growl.

“Yeah, baby, that’s what I like to hear. Bring all the sexy.”

“What should I wear?”

“I’ll provide your uniform, sweet thing. You bring the ass and the sass.”

They said their good-byes and hung up, and Rylan walked to the small Mexican restaurant next door to splurge on some fajitas and a Corona with lime. Maybe things were looking up at last.

✩✩✩

“You want me to wear what?”

Rylan could hear the squeak in his own voice, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I, uh―I was just wondering where the rest of the costume is.”

“The rest?” The man holding the tiny scrap of gold lamé in his beefy hand looked at it and then back at Rylan, before scrunching up his face in a comical expression of apology. “Geez, I’m so sorry. What was I thinking? Lemme get that for you.” Rylan felt swamped with relief as the man turned to rummage through a box on a table behind him. “Here’s the rest.”

He held up a bow tie in his other hand, one of those Velcro things that fastened around the neck, his eyes alight with a combination of malice and mischief.

Rylan gulped.

The man tossed the two bits of fabric down onto the table and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Look, cupcake, that’s the costume for this gig. Take it or leave it.”

For a moment Rylan was tempted to leave it while telling the guy to shove his “costume” up his ass, but the thought of his looming rent quelled the words crowding into his throat. Two hundred dollars in cash. Two hundred dollars in cash, he thought instead. So he walked around the man and picked up the material, swallowing hard as he realized he could hold the entire thing balled up in one hand.

“Is there somewhere I can change?”

The man nodded toward a sagging shower curtain hanging haphazardly from a clothesline strung along a corner of the booth. “Over there.”

Rylan moved behind the curtain and pulled it closed as best he could, trying to ignore the gaps. He yanked his T-shirt over his head and tossed it onto a small folding chair before fastening the Velcro bow tie around his neck, doing his best to center it in the hollow of his throat. His jeans and underwear came next, and Rylan shimmied into the hot pants, tugging them up his legs and pulling at the side zipper. There was a full-length mirror propped against one of the plywood supports nearby, and Rylan stared into it in horror.

The shorts were so miniscule that the waistband didn’t even come up to cover his hipbones, cut so low in front that a little slice of his pubic hair peeked over the top. Rylan would never consider himself overly well-endowed, but the cling of the lamé made him bulge out all over the place, this short of obscene. Small blessings―at least the fabric was lined so he could keep the fact that he was circumcised all to himself; that was no one’s fucking business. But pretty much everything else Rylan had to offer was on full display. Jesus.

Two hundred dollars in cash.

“C’mon, ain’t got all day, cupcake.”

Rylan closed his eyes at the thought of having to go out there, and he cleared his throat before croaking, “Just a sec.” He took his time folding his clothes into a neat little stack, stalling, until the man said, with a real thread of impatience to his voice, “You’re on the clock now, sweetheart. C’mon out and show me the goods, or get on outta here and stop wasting my time.”

With the feeling of a man heading to his execution, Rylan pulled the curtain to the side and stepped out into the middle of the booth.

“Well.” The dude practically licked his lips as he looked Rylan over, tracing his gaze over every inch of Rylan’s body, lingering at his crotch. “Turn around, cutie.”