Thunder rolled from the mountains to the west. Moments later a warm breeze washed over the river and across the balcony, rustling the edges of the white tablecloths. Derrick looked up from the small table where he had been arranging glasses on a tray. Fat, full clouds washed in shades of coral and tangerine drifted across the horizon. The sun had dipped behind the mountains so the valley was lit by a cool twilight that caught his eye and held his gaze beyond the river.
"You lose something?" asked Tim; the manager had snuck up while Derrick was transfixed.
"Did you hear that thunder?" replied Derrick.
"Didn't notice," said Tim as he heaved a box of reds onto the table and began slicing the cardboard.
"It might rain," said Derrick.
"You better hope it doesn't; there's no way all these people will fit inside."
"I don't want to get wet, either."
"Your uniform will dry, kid," said Tim as he grabbed an armful of reds and carried them over to the bar at the other corner of the balcony.
Derrick finished arranging the glasses on his tray then bent down to pull a bottle of white from the cooler. A cheap California chardonnay, but still more expensive than anything he'd buy for himself. He carefully filled all the glasses on his tray, tugged on his vest to straighten it, and ran his fingers through his wavy, blonde hair. Whatever he did, it always seemed to flop to one side, and a lock or two would frequently fall over his forehead. He grabbed the tray in his left hand and steadied it, then began another round of the balcony.
Guests were still arriving, but a number had already made their way out. It was late April so the afternoon sun left the air warm, but the evening breeze washing in across the river held a chilly edge. If it was a big party, then guests would be coming and going all night to catch the relief of the cool, evening air. But if it was small then he might spend more time staring over the river than serving drinks. Derrick had catered at all kinds of parties in the past year: formals, fundraisers, and more weddings than he could count. Dothan was a city, but still small enough that there were only a few high class catering companies in town. He'd moved here a few years earlier for college, but now that that was over, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next.
A few more guests trickled out. Derrick meandered around, offering them glasses of chardonnay and directing them to the bar Tim was manning in the corner when they asked for spirits. Technically, they weren't allowed to accept tips at all -- not when the clientele they were serving were as high society as the guests tonight. But the bartenders always got away with a few bills here and there, especially when one of the old men wanted something a little stronger for a young lady, to make her more pliable or to drown her out.
Derrick continued his rounds, occasionally stopping at the bar to drop off dirty glasses and pick up fresh ones. A fat, older woman fanning herself with one of the museum's maps grabbed a glass from Derrick and held it against her forehead,
"My gawd, it's hot in there. Aren't y'all hot in there?" she said to the few other women gathered around her. Derrick offered them chardonnay, they accepted, but kept it from their foreheads. It had cooled down on the balcony, but there wasn't anything crazy going on inside, he couldn't imagine it was all that hot in the museum halls. Derrick had been to parties with dancefloors so crowded that even if you squeezed out the side to get a breath of fresh air, you could still feel the heat pulsing from the dancing bodies -- the music, the lights, enough chaos that even for a small southern city, a boy could snake his arms around another boy's body and go unnoticed, at least for a while.
"Son, hey there, son, I said, could you help me?" Derrick blinked back to reality and turned to look at the man snapping for his attention.
"What?" he said.
"'What?'" the man exaggerated the word and shook the loose skin that hung from his neck.
"Don't just stand there, I said, could you help me?" Derrick put his tray down on a table and walked over to the man.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nearly everything," said the man. Derrick opened his mouth to reply but the man cut him off,
"No, don't give me them puppy dog eyes like you're all sorry, it's not your fault. I didn't mean to get short with you, I'm just pressed for time." Derrick hadn't felt bad, but the man didn't give him a chance to say so.
"I'm giving the keynote tonight, but look around, they haven't got anything for me to stand at, and nothing for me to put my papers on."
"Sir, I'm with the catering company," said Derrick, but the man waved his hands.
"I hear you, I do, but the museum's staff is all busy or else sitting on their asses taking their sweet time with their smoke breaks. You look like a nice, strong young man, it'll just take five minutes," he said.
"I'm supposed to man the balcony, sir," said Derrick.
"Listen son, if your boss gets upset, I'll take all the blame. You know who I am?" Derrick shook his head.
"Well I'm sure your boss does. Now come on, I've got to get a move on," he said.
"I really shouldn--" The man put his hand on Derrick's shoulder and squeezed it.
"It'll be worth your while, son," he said. Derrick shrugged; at least it would be a change of scenery.
"Alright, sure," he said. The man grinned,
"That's a good boy. This way," he said. The man led Derrick inside the museum, around the edge of the dancefloor where a band was playing some uptempo jazz, and down a narrow exhibit hall scattered with pastoral landscapes. Halfway down the hall the man opened a door and held it for Derrick,
"Down here," he said. Derrick stepped in and the man followed; his hand brushed down Derrick's back and rested for a moment on his ass. Derrick stepped to the side,
"Which way," he asked. A staircase went down, and another up.
"It's in the basement," the man said. Derrick held out his hand and motioned for the man to lead. He flashed a smile at Derrick as he grasped the rail and began slowly stepping down the stairs. As he lowered each leg onto the next step, it shook a little, and he kept a firm grip on the rail. He was old enough to be Derrick's father, and then some. His hair was completely gray except for a shiny bald spot on the crown of his head. Derrick kept three steps behind the man until they reached the bottom of the stairs. The man again held the door open for Derrick. This time, he didn't put his hand on Derrick's back, he placed it firmly on Derrick's ass and gave it a quick squeeze as the door clicked shut behind them.
"We should hurry--" began Derrick, but the man interrupted,
"This way, come on, just down this hall." Derrick followed him down the hall then around a bend. At the end of the bend there was a dark storeroom lined with shelves stacked with frames and hooks, chairs stacked in neat rows, temporary tables folded against the walls, and cleaning supplies tossed into a pile. The man flicked a switch and dim lights hummed on. Derrick looked around the room.
"I don't see a podium, sir," he said. The man was quiet. Derrick turned to look at him, he was eyeing Derrick up and down; his gaze stopped on Derrick's crotch.
"It's here somewhere," he said, then he took his jacket off and loosened his tie.
"It's hot as Hades down here, isn't it?" he said.
"It's pretty warm," Derrick agreed. The man undid his belt and let it hang loose.
"Why don't you get more comfortable," he said, "it'll make searching easier." He took a few steps closer to Derrick so that they were face to face. Derrick was average height for a man, about 5'9". In his prime, the man would've had a few inches on him, but now they were almost eye level.
"I think I'll be ok," said Derrick. The man reached out and brushed Derrick's wavy blonde hair away from his forehead.
"Such pretty blue eyes," said the man. Derrick gulped. With his other hand the man grabbed Derrick's crotch. He rubbed his fingers around Derrick's balls and when he found the head of Derrick's hardening dick he massaged it with his thumb. His eyes lit up,
"I see my boy's excited," he said. Derrick swallowed hard, but didn't know what to say.
"Come on, let's get more comfortable," he said, and he unfastened Derrick's pants and tugged them to the floor. He stared down at Derrick's hardening dick and grinned. He grabbed it in his hand and squeezed it gently; Derrick shut his eyes and let out a quiet moan.
"My boy likes that, does he?" Derrick wasn't sure what to say. He opened his eyes. The man stuck his middle finger in his mouth and when he pulled it out his spit dripped from it onto the floor.
"You ever been fucked by a real daddy, boy?"
