Chapter Eleven
An Elephant on Trial
Eli was true to his word. He kept his eyes on him at all times, though Samuel didn’t exactly make it difficult for him.
He found it easy to keep his promise not to wander off.
They’d already been eating their meals together and going to sleep together, so joining the rest of their time was pretty seamless, and even enjoyable once the initial fear began to fade.
Eli was just so good at making it seem like he wanted to be there.
And despite the man’s insistence that they do “social” things, Samuel was having a better time now than he’d ever had in prison before.
Movie time, for instance. Every Friday afternoon at three pm the prison put on a VCR tape of some old-ass film.
Samuel only needed to walk by the room sometimes to put him off ever joining.
It was always full of annoying people who yelled at the screen, each other, or the demons in their heads, and basically the opposite of what he considered a good time.
Besides, that was when Nathaniel sometimes visited him.
But there was no Nathaniel now. And since he was even more determined to distract Eli from that fact, he allowed himself to be dragged to movie time.
By the time they got there, all the seats but one were taken.
So what did Eli do? He pulled Samuel down into his lap, as if he really were a puppy and not a giant blonde slab of meat.
When the people behind him complained about blocking the view, Samuel thought that was the end of it, but Eli turned around and with his most intimidating smile, said, “Will you really make my husband sit on the floor?”
That sparked a lot of questions. Which was strange. When Samuel mentioned Eli, everyone shut up and hurried away. But when Eli did it, it became a press conference.
“Who’s on top?” Was the question everyone wanted to know.
“That’s private,” Eli said, which was where he should have stopped, but then his smile twisted in mischief. “But no one leaves my bed unsatisfied.”
Samuel jerked his eyes away, but it was too late. His heart was thud-thud-thumping and he knew it showed on his face.
“Does your real husband know about him?” was one of the next questions.
“Of course. If I was going to be sleeping with anyone, he wanted it to be Samuel.”
“I’m telling Nat you said that,” Samuel hissed, red as a sun-ripened tomato, but Eli only smiled at him.
“Like it isn’t his fantasy to pimp me out to you.”
The stupidest part was that he was probably right.
Nathaniel didn’t seem to mind Eli touching him at all.
He even made these little comments—comments he did his best to forget.
Things like, “I don’t know if you’re able to get condoms in commissary, but I promise he’s clean.
I can print out blood test results if you like,” or, “They didn’t let me put lubricant in the care package, so I had to substitute massage oil instead.
” Samuel had tried assuring him that he had no plans to touch his husband, but it was like Nathaniel had his ears plugged.
He’d say things like, “We don’t have to talk about it if it embarrasses you.
” Still, he would take those comments again—he’d take any comments again—if it only meant seeing him again.
He missed Nathaniel. Actually, he missed him as much as he missed Jenny, which weirded him out.
Nathaniel didn’t think it was weird. “I’m going through beauty withdrawals,” he said to them through the phone one morning.
They had a way of crowding close to the receiver that made them both able to hear him at once.
“If I don’t see some decent tits soon, I think I’m going to put a stapler through someone’s head.
No one in academia has a body you’d want to see naked. ”
“I’ll be sure to flash you on Saturday,” Eli promised him.
“Not enough. Maybe if I could watch Samuel molest you a little...though I’m not sure my brain could handle it.”
“You’re a ridiculous man, Pearson.”
“As if you wouldn’t sell your left nut for a recording. By the way, is this the time to confess how my masturbation fantasies have changed?”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t you dare. I’m not even halfway through venting my frustrations.”
Eli laughed. Samuel didn’t. His insides were squirming something awful. Eli drew him aside after the phone call to apologize for any distress it might have caused. “He doesn't know about—he would feel awful if he thought he was making you uncomfortable. Do you want me to tell him?”
“What? No .”
“But if it bothers you—”
“That’s not why. Jesus. As if I could ever think of Nat as a predator.”
Eli seemed to relax a little, hearing that. But he still wouldn’t drop it. “He’s not really, you know, fantasizing about—”
“Yes, I know,” he said, or at least, he meant to just say it, but it came out sounding much more irritated than he meant to, almost waspish .
It surprised Eli, who blinked and shut his mouth, clearly unsure what to make of it, or what to say, which only further embarrassed and ruffled Samuel, who was used to being rescued from his own awkwardness.
Thankfully Eli seemed to brush it off, and they continued as they’d been soon afterwards.
And then it was Saturday.
He woke to Eli’s humming. He recognized the song but couldn’t place it.
“Morning, puppy,” Eli said, and then he laughed hard enough to shake the bed, the sound full of such simple joy it made his chest ache. The man was in a fantastic mood, and everyone was forced to share in it.
The humming turned to unrestrained belting in the showers. And the thing was, no one minded. Eli had an astonishing voice, and soon he was getting encores and even song requests—all of which the man seemed perfectly happy to fulfill—naked, and singing into a borrowed hairbrush.
Samuel weathered it for as long as he could, then dragged him out of the bathroom halfway through a rendition of Love Shack .
“Aw, baby. That’s my audience.”
“Audiences pay for performances.”
It wasn’t much as far as retorts went, and Eli’s laugh proved it. “You jealous, puppy?”
The man said it as a joke, but Samuel was just irritated enough to whip around and snap, “Last I checked, you were my prison-husband, not anyone else’s.”
At that, Eli laughed for so hard and so long, Samuel wanted to yell at him to take a breath, but then Eli clamped down on his face and said, “I could eat you, Samuel. I really could.” And that got him real quiet real fast.
They were waiting at the gate an hour before visiting hours began. Samuel brought a book with him to read aloud to pass the time, but Eli was too excited for reading, interrupting himself to say things like, “I’m so excited,” or “I’m so happy.”
That face-splitting grin lasted right up until the time Mathews actually came to unlock the gate, and then suddenly Eli was nervous.
“What if I make her cry? What if she just cries and cries and never wants to come again?”
“You’re being crazy,” Samuel said, but couldn’t help feeling some of that nervousness himself. A lot of people hated coming to visit, and not just because of the commute. The prison was depressing as hell, and full of people you would pay big money never to see.
He needn’t have worried. Before Eli was even in the room, there was a wild shriek of “DADDY!” and a tiny torpedo came shooting into the man’s arms. All Eli’s nervousness vanished the moment he locked eyes on his daughter.
He tossed her up into the air, already laughing, and when he caught her again, he hugged her so tight she seemed to disappear into his body.
No one told him to put her down.
“You don’t look as bad as I thought you would,” Hailey said, patting his cheek. “Did you make your toothbrush into a shiv yet?”
Eli laughed, and Samuel could do nothing, marveling at what was clearly a little girl clone of Eli. Her smile. Her eyes. Her nose. Even her ears were little Eli ears.
“So this is what you’d look like with hair,” he blurted—like a MORON.
It made both of them turn to him, and that meant an assault of two near identical and highly lethal smiles. “Don’t worry,” Hailey said. “I’m shaving next week.”
There was a laugh and then Nathaniel came up to Eli and kissed his daughter’s head. “No shaving. Darren will cry.”
“No, I won’t.”
He turned his head and blinked. There, setting a food tray on one of the tables, was another clone, though of Nathaniel this time, only slightly smaller and with shorter hair. The boy settled himself at the table and ripped open a sandwich.
“Darren,” he said. It couldn’t be anyone else.
Nathaniel’s brother looked up. His lips were pressed into a line. “Samuel.” His voice was even, but chock-full of contempt.
He heard a familiar click-click, but instead of coming straight to him, Jenny wrenched back Darren’s chair to look into his face.
The boy was startled out of his anger and could only look at her.
Jenny seized the boy by the chin and leaned in close.
“You don’t want to provoke me, sweetheart.
I’m not in the best of moods these days.
” With that declaration, she released the chair.
It fell back onto all four legs with a bang.
Then she seemed to forget about it altogether.
She came to Samuel and took hold of his face with both hands.
“You’re not sleeping enough, and your face looks thinner. Did that monster touch you again?”
“No, it’s—I’m fine.”
“He isn’t fine,” Eli said. He’d put Hailey down, but he still had a hold of her hand. “But I’ll spit blood before anyone tries again.”
Samuel twisted his face out from his sister’s hands and gaped at Eli, who sounded almost feral.
“No blood,” Nathaniel said, and pecked his husband on the mouth.
Hailey used the break in her father’s focus to escape and zoomed right to Samuel to seize his hand. “Samuel! Tell Jenny to sleep over by us tonight.”