I knew who Andrew was because he came into the print shop I work at. We did some business cards for him -- nice ones, with a phone number on one side and his picture on the other. That was it.
It was a strange order, and not cheap, not just because of the picture. It was a simple head and shoulders portrait with a plain background. Andrew's shoulders were bare, so it seemed as if he wasn't wearing anything. He was smiling, a cute, innocent/knowing smile that made the most of his white teeth and lovely big brown eyes. But his hair...
It was gelled down flat, as if he'd just surfaced from water -- into a blunt, perfectly straight fringe and down the sides and back as well. Light shone on it from above, to make a dazzling halo effect around the crown. It looked strange at first, as if he was a being from the future, or another planet.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't think he was cute, but he was so obviously gay. When he came in he had on the tiniest denim shorts I'd ever seen, and a white T-shirt that clung to his slim, well-muscled body. His legs went on for ever and they were gorgeous too.
It's not that he was camp or anything -- his voice was quite deep, with a slightly fake poshness that didn't manage to cover the faintest hint of a snarl. But what made his gayness really obvious was that the second time he came in another man came with him.
The other man was older, in his forties maybe, and looked as if he worked in a bank -- pinstripe suit, boring haircut, red in the face and on the point of getting overweight. He looked as if he was used to getting his own way -- I could tell because he wasn't getting his own way with Andrew and didn't know what to do about it.
"Please," he was saying that crisp spring morning, "I have to see you again."
"No." Andrew moved like a dancer, all graceful efficiency. The man bothering him looked like a waddling hippo in comparison. "And I've got things to do."
He looked at me with an apologetic expression. The shop wasn't busy -- we were due a couple of big orders next week, and the print shop out the back was rattling away, but I was on my own today, with Tracy taking over after lunch.
"Yes, but --"
"Hello Hannah," Andrew said, and I was pleasantly surprised he'd remembered my name. "I'd like that reprint tomorrow if possible. I'm running out, which it literally inconceivable." He turned to the man bothering him with a suddenness that made him draw back. "Isn't it?"
The man blinked and Andrew faced me again with a winning smile. God, he was gorgeous. His hair was the same as in the picture -- gleaming and slick. Once you got used to that other worldly look it was incredibly sexy. I could tell that the man bothering Andrew wanted to touch it -- he kept staring at it, and his hands twitched. The man seemed breathless -- his eyes shone as he stared at Andrew, almost without blinking.
Some men looked at me like that, or rather with almost that much intensity but not quite. It was so frustrating! I was thirty-one, had been with my boyfriend Steve for five years, and though he hadn't popped the question we sort of bumbled along quite happily. We had our own place, which was a nice flat in town his parents had helped us out with, and he worked for the council, managing contracts for things like street cleaning. I sometimes went out with my friends, and we got dolled up, and I got attention because apparently I looked good for my age although it's getting more expensive -- especially the blonde highlights that Steve said he liked but seemed not to notice anymore.
Andrew didn't seem content in life at all. There was a restlessness to him that was almost ferocious, but despite that his eyes were always touched with sadness, as if he was born like that, and it was part of his beauty. He was a student up at the college, doing some weird arts degree. He looked like an artist. A poet maybe. Perhaps that was what the business cards were for, although I had my suspicions that they are for something quite different.
The man recovered, swallowed, and reached for Andrew's arm. Andrew's eyes flickered at the proffered hand, and something in them made the man snatch back his hand as if burned. Andrew glanced at me again.
"I'll have two boxes of business cards this time, Hannah."
"No problem, Andrew."
I filled out the little form, and he signed it. I checked the price in a book by the cash register, then rang it up. It was pricey because the cards were in colour and printed on both sides. They were also quality grade card, and the photo looked professionally taken. It somehow managed to make everything about Andrew's face even more gorgeous than it was in real life -- the full, pouty mouth, the large, slightly Satanic nose, and the hero jaw.
There was an awkward pause as I waited for him to pay. Instead, he turned to the man bothering him and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh!" The man said. "Of course!"
He scrabbled out an overstuffed wallet, snatched out a couple of notes, and handed them over before I could register how simultaneously shocked and impressed I was. Andrew was already sauntering towards the door. Both the man and I were momentarily hypnotized by the slight sway of Andrew's arse in those ridiculous, tight little shorts. At the door, he turned back.
"What time shall I pick the cards up tomorrow, Hannah?"
"Midday latest."
He winked at me, and my heart did a funny little something -- as if it had stopped for a moment but in a nice way.
"Many thanks."
"Wait!" The man who had paid for Andrew's business card order without a word of thanks scrabbled his change into his pockets with shaky hands. His skin was flushed and he seemed even more breathless. "Does this cover --?" He stopped and glanced at me with the wide-eyed look of a man who has said too much but is on the point of not caring.
Andrew gazed at him with flat contempt.
"Of course it doesn't. It simply buys you access you don't deserve. That's why the price has gone up. Sixty, up front, notes only. I can fit you in..." His nostrils flared at this statement to maximise the double entendre, "... now."
"But I've got work --" the man in the suit bleated as Andrew slipped out. "Andrew?"
He ran after the pretty young man, banging the door as he went.
I was left stunned by this turn of events. The man obviously wanted to have sex with Andrew -- and Andrew was charging him! Sixty quid too! That was a lot of money. Then I thought about how expensive those micro-shorts looked, as if the less material is used, the higher the price. And that T-shirt -- it was of a ribbed, flexible material that had to cost a pretty penny. I'd thought about getting one for Steve but decided not to because of the cost. When we got together five years, I'd have bought it for him without a second thought.
That's when I realised.
Steve and I needed something extra in our relationship. The last intimate conversation we'd had was after a few drinks a week ago. Steve was asking me yet again about having sex with other women, and I told him once again that I tried it once in Brighton and that it had just felt strange and awkward, even though the woman was very attractive and sexy. I just didn't feel anything in my heart, my core -- whatever it is that keeps us going. The woman was nice about it, but I still felt guilty.
This was the fifth time he'd mentioned it, and I was getting annoyed. Him keeping on wasn't going to change anything. I was an attractive blonde with a good chest -- what the hell more did he want? Out of annoyance, I found myself asking the unaskable.
"Have you ever been with another man?"
I expected him to be cross, and I was ready for a row simply to put the lid on this whole lesbian business. He said no, but not in an aggressive way -- more a wistful one. I was surprised at this response and felt bold enough to ask if he'd ever fancied another man. He said he'd watched some gay porn round at a mate's house and although he expected to be disgusted it turned out that he'd liked it.
We'd only recently got our drinks in, and we studied them, then I took a big swig of vodka and coke and asked what he liked about it. I was being clever, or so I thought. If Steve let on what he liked, maybe it would give me a clue about how to take things further in the bedroom. I was getting sexually frustrated -- more than I realised.
Again Steve surprised me. I had expected him to be into what I imagined was quite a violent process involving bottoms. Instead, he said, "I just liked how much he loved him. Like he couldn't get enough of the other guy. Kept stroking him, telling him how beautiful he was."
He realised his breathing had spread up when he very obviously forced it back to its usual rate. I felt disoriented, even euphoric at what felt like a clue. I would crack this -- I truly would!
I asked him if he'd every fancied another man and he said yes. It was a footballer whose name escaped me -- one of those skinny little ones who can move at uncanny speeds and seem to float above the pitch. He had, as I recall, short dark hair...
