Oasis of Night Read Free Page B

to cup the bulge at his crotch, rubbing him through his clothes… making love with him in some cheap hotel room, taking off her clothes and opening her legs to him, running her hands over his body, touching his mouth, his closed eyelids, his cock.
    I broke away and went to the bar and made like I was busy with a phone call. I knew a guy, a reporter at the local newspaper, the St. John’s Telegram , by the name of Dan O’Hagan. He and I sometimes got together to drink coffee and play dominoes—he claimed to be addicted to the game and kept a set of tiles in his desk at work. If things were quiet at the Cafe, I’d sometimes go over to his office on Duckworth Street and play a game or two. Dan knew everything about everybody in town, from the oldest founder families to the lowliest “corner boy” busking for pennies in front of the train station. He could recite the lineages of the great merchant families, like the Bowrings and the Ayres, and whistle every single one of Johnny Burke’s tunes from start to finish. He knew what ships came in and when, and what they might be carrying. He kept track of troop movements into and out of the city, and how many Americans, Canadians, British, and others were in temporary residence at any given time. I suspected Dan’s day job was just a front. Where I came from, any guy who knows that much about everything has some other racket on the side.
    I wasn’t really interested in Dan’s covert connections, though. Right now I wanted to find out what he knew about Miss Julie Fayre, who she was and where she came from.
    â€œJulie Fayre?” It was hard to mistake the astonishment in his voice. “Julie Fayre, she of the silken, russet hair? Jack, Jack, my son, you’re killing me here.” She was the daughter of one of the oldest construction families in the country, and her family was responsible for the bulk of the work being done on the new Army base at Fort Pepperrell. Julie had gone to college in Boston, where she had excelled. She was beautiful, she was rich, she was educated and intelligent. She was everything a guy like Chris could want, dammit. “What’s Julie Fayre doing in your place? She slumming, or what?”
    â€œThanks a lot, Dan.”
    â€œJesus, boy, that’s the quality, sure. Tell her to stay there. I’ll be wanting a whack at that myself.”
    â€œThat’s okay, Dan. I think Chris and I can handle it from here.” I rang off.
    Chris was waiting for me. “Did you want me for something, Jack?”
    â€œNaw, it can wait. Get Miss Fayre’s order, will you?”
    He stayed where he was, the tray clasped in his arms, his beautiful face wearing a puzzled, slightly hurt expression. “Did I do something wrong, Jack?”
    â€œNo.” I’ll tell everyone you forced me. I will. I’ll tell them. “No, it’s fine.” I pressed my hand against my forehead, willing it away, but the damned memory stuck, embedded in my brain like some weird music you hear once and can never get rid of.
    â€œWe’ll talk later, huh?” His palm was warm on my shoulder, burning heat through my shirt.
    I gazed into his dark eyes, pulled as ever toward him. It would be so easy some night, when both of us were alone in the Cafe, to lean over and kiss him, to feel the slow, sweet burn of his tongue in my mouth and his hands on my body, but some part of me knew it was no good. None of this was any good. I didn’t even know if Chris went that way, and as for me, I’d be damned if I’d start anything. Oh no, that wasn’t for me. Jack Stoyles was good and finished with that whole love routine.
    â€œYeah, Chris. We’ll talk later.” I pretended an itch on my shoulder, an excuse to shrug him off, and went back to my office.
    Around midafternoon, the cafe’s traffic slacked off, but Julie Fayre stayed on, drinking endless cups of coffee and flirting with Chris.