The strains of a smokey melodic man's voice singing "Deep Purple," backed by a piano, spilled out onto a narrow, stone-paved street, not much more than an alley, in the old city section of Valetta, Malta. The ancient buildings, one directly abutting the next, here were faced with stone as well, with balconies here and there on the second and third floors, some jutting out nearly half way over the street below. The street meandered and moved up an incline. It opened out onto yet another stone-paved street not much wider than it was but that permitted cars to park half way up the narrow walk in front of buildings with shop facades.
Kirk Golding, nearly twenty, small, blond, delicate looking, more beautiful than handsome, sat at a pink baby grand piano on a low platform at one end of a half-basement room five buildings into the narrow street. A ten-seat bar was set into the wall behind him. The bartender behind the bar appeared to be a blowsy blonde woman--but wasn't. The waiter was tall and thin, with long, slicked-up black hair and a pimply face. He was dressed in a semblance of a tuxedo and was leaning against the bar, with little to do, as the men in the room seemed more interested in making each other than in having their drinks refilled.
There were six tables, two chairs each, strung around a small dance floor at the street side of the room and, on the wall opposite the bar, a staircase going up, its stairs facing the entrance from the street, which was tucked under a stone porch to the entrance of the upper levels.
Two couples of men, one young in jeans and tight T-shirt and one middle aged in a suit, sat at separate tables. A couple, both men, were swaying against each other, cheek to cheek, on the small dance floor more or less in the rhythm of the music, although dancing wasn't really what was on their minds. A young man, in jeans and pulling his T-shirt over his head, already moving into what he hoped would be a quick trick, was preceding a middle-aged man in a suit up the staircase. The man in the suit, had his hand high up the young man's thigh.
Both the piano playing and the singing were quite good, as they should be, as Kirk was a graduate of the Julliard school of music. Anyone listening would get the impression that Kirk was trained to play far more demanding music than this.
The song shifted to "Misty," as two men entered the bar from the street. The men on the stairs were already on their way to the rooms above, where the middle-aged man would shortly be mounting the younger man. All of the other men in the room, except Kirk, who was concentrating on his music, looked up briefly and surreptitiously to view and assess the newly arriving men in terms of arousal or the need for flight. Both men perhaps were in their forties, both with Middle Eastern features. One was obviously more important than the other. His suit was of finest quality, although a bit awkwardly worn as if he was more accustomed to wearing an Arab robe, and his fingers glittered from a collection of gold rings. The other man obviously was subservient to the first.
The two apparently didn't raise any alarms, as the patrons already in the bar returned to focusing on each other. They were disturbed again, though, when the first man, rather too loudly for the atmosphere in the room said, in English but in a thick accent hinting of British and something else, more like Arabic, "Is that him then?"
"Yes, excellency," the other man answered in more subdued tones. He was cringing a bit as if it was very important that he get this right.
"Very nice," the first man said and the other one noticeably relaxed. The waiter came forward to show them to one of the vacant tables by the front window, but the more subservient man waved him away as the first man marched to the table closest to the piano and settled there. The couple at the table in the front corner continued to give passing glances at the newly arrived pair, but everyone else, including the piano player, went back to what they were doing as the waiter took drink orders from the newly arrived patrons.
Kirk segued into "Begin the Beguine," and the first man, now identified as Samir, as the second man had used that name to break attention away from Kirk to obtain the first man's drink preference, leaned forward, following Kirk's hand movements on the piano with his eyes. He clearly was a piano aficionado. He just as clearly was taken with the young, blond pianist and singer.
A young man who had been sitting at the far end of the bar, yet another rent-boy who knew his way up the stairs and who was there to serve the patrons, slithered off his stool and approached Samir by the piano. The other man waved him away, though, and tossing his shoulder in a pout, the rent-boy returned to his station at the far end of the bar.
The piano player reached some sort of refreshment break, because, although he didn't leave the piano, the waiter produced a drink for him without him asking, and he took his hands off the keys to take a sip. He also reached for a cigarette case and lighter that were laying beside a tip jar on the ledge above the keyboard--perhaps to make clear that there was a tip jar there. As he fiddled with the cigarette case, extracting and lighting up a smoke, his fingers caressed the tip jar for a moment, a clear signal that Samir, at least, picked up on. If the patron was there to appreciate the music, he needed to show his appreciation. He rose, took some money out of his wallet, moved to the piano, and dropped the money in the tip jar.
"Thank you," Kirk said in English.
"Ah, you're American," Samir said.
"No, Canadian," Kirk said, flashing a smile.
"You play and sing very well. Have you trained?"
"Yes, the Ottawa Conservatory of Music," Kirk said. "I thought I could put a good use to the training as I traveled Europe on my gap year."
"Gap year? What is a gap year?"
"It's a year off from college one takes to broaden their experience in travel."
"You have wanted to broaden your experience," Samir said, touching Kirk's forearm lightly with his fingers.
"Yes," Kirk said, looking down at the fingers brushing his arm but making no move away from them. "My musical experience."
"There are other experiences worthy of broadening the man said."
"I am aware of that," Kirk answered. This was the sort of bar where this was foreplay. And Kirk wouldn't be employed to play here if he wasn't on offer for a price.
"You're traveling Europe and the Mediterranean alone during this gap year?"
"Yes, all alone."
"Not with a girlfriend?"
Kirk laughed. "There's no girlfriend."
"A boyfriend then, perhaps?"
"Is there a song you'd like me to play for you?" Kirk said rather than answering the question. "You seemed to like the type of song I was playing."
"I like everything about you," Samir said. "What do you think of me?"
Kirk paused to give the man a good look. He knew what this was, what was being expected from him. Serving the patrons came with having a job in a bar like this. The man, in fact, was handsome, although he had a dangerous look about him, and he certainly was fit for his age. He wasn't European. Maybe from somewhere in the Middle East? There was an air of command and cruelty about him. "You look just fine. You're a handsome man," Kirk said. He was still fiddling with his cigarette case.
"You really shouldn't smoke," Samir said, putting his hand on Kirk's shoulder. Kirk left it there. "It's not good for your singing, I don't think. It would be a pity for you to lose your talent."
"Perhaps I have other talents I can fall back on."
"I can clearly see that. You're a beautiful young man. So blond--and young."
"Unfortunately, I have several bad habits," Kirk said. "I guess I'm just a bad boy." The signaling was obvious, and Samir smiled.
"You asked if I would like you to play a song for me. Do you know 'Embraceable You'?"
"Certainly," Kirk answered. "You were watching my hands on the piano as I played. I can scoot over and you can sit on the bench beside me. You'll get a closer look."
"That will be very nice," Samir said. He sat close to Kirk on the piano bench, and as Kirk returned the cigarette case to the piano ledge and began playing and singing softly, the older man's arm went around the singer's back and his hand palmed the younger man's hip. Kirk trembled a bit but left the hand there.
