18. The Devil’s crossroads
THE DEVIL’S CROSSROADS
“You asshole!” I threw a pillow at him.
He dodged without missing a note and stood. God fucking dammit. I laughed and wiggled along—I couldn’t help myself. That song was catchy, no matter how annoying the player was.
When he finished, he took a dramatic bow, hair spilling forward over his shoulders in a red flood. “This is what you get for questioning my abilities.”
I kicked my feet with glee. “You win this round, Devil. That was amazing. Did you sleep at all?”
“No, but I showered. Come. Breakfast.”
Rafael steepled his hands and stared earnestly from across the table. “There is a fight coming up this Saturday.”
I lowered my half-eaten toast. “Can I come? I’d like to watch.”
“Hmm. I was only letting you know so when I show up bloody in the middle of the night, you will not be frightened.”
“It’s important to you, and I want to know every part of you; devil’s feathers and all.” I gave him my best puppy eyes. The idea of watching him truly unleash his all strength and ferocity did fun things to my body.
“This is not like the fights you have watched on TV. It is unlicensed and there are no judges. No winning by decision, only tap out or knockout. Very few rules except banning cheap shots. I have seen compound fractures, an eyeball knocked out of the socket, and one man died later in the hospital.” Rafael’s brow creased.
“Possibly more than one, but I only know of him.” A certain inflection in his voice hinted he might have been the one responsible.
“Well, that makes me worried for you.”
“There are medics on hand. But Elaine, this is a very rough crowd. I cannot keep an eye on you while I am in the ring, and fights regularly break out in the audience.”
“I really want to go at least once. Please?” I pouted. “Do you have a cool fighter name like Rafael ‘the Red Dragon’ Nazim? You know, for the red hair and all.”
His nose wrinkled, and he did the hair swipe of embarrassment. “Absolutely not.”
I tapped the table, thinking. “What if I bring my friend, Ross? He loves to watch men fight. He’s a big guy, too. Tall and heavy. Complete cinnamon roll, but maybe people would be more likely to leave us alone if we were together?”
Rafael’s peaked brows rose. “How do you know this Ross?”
“Ross Mayhew, he’s a former coworker. He lives in East Bay now, and I haven’t seen him in a while.
” I caught the glint in my composer’s eye.
“Calm down, he’s gay. Like, femme, bottom, gold-star gay.
Even if he wasn’t, he’s about as different from you as it’s possible to get.
Definitely not my type, but you’re definitely his.
Don’t be surprised if he calls you ‘Daddy’ all night. ”
Unconvinced, Rafael’s lips thinned. “Is he able to keep you safe in a crowd full of bikers?”
“One time we were walking in the Mission and some dude near us yelled out ‘Hey!’ Ross screamed and threw his shopping bag. So, not exactly, but I think together we would be fine.”
Rafael rubbed his temples. “I am going to regret saying yes. I can feel it.”
Ross answered the phone by shrieking, “BIIIIITCH, where have you been? I talked to Annie the other day, and she said you ran off with some mysterious giant redhead. Tell me everything about the new dick!”
Rubbing my ears, with Rafael glaring daggers, I took my call to the library. Ross was indeed enthusiastic, both for watching men beat each other bloody and for meeting us for coffee the morning of the fight. We made plans to spend the day together catching up and go to the fight that evening.
When Rafael and I emerged from the elevator into Telve—which felt absurdly fancy—Zainab rushed out from behind the counter. She wore a dusky rose ensemble that made her look angelic. A waft of floral perfume tickled my nose.
“Mr. Nazim hasn’t chased you off yet! Ah, I worried when I didn’t see you again. You will have the rose latte today. That man won’t try anything flavored because he hates joy.”
“Good morning, Zainab,” Rafael said from behind me. “I see you do not want a tip today.”
“Oh, is this the mysterious lady?” An awkwardly skinny young man with a shock of black hair and medium brown skin emerged from the kitchen. He trotted over and stuck his hand out. “I’m Mehmet. Yusuf is here somewhere.”
“Probably slacking,” Zainab huffed.
Ross showed up 15 minutes late, much to Rafael’s annoyance.
“Why does tardiness bother you so much?” I asked as my friend traipsed across the street. “You sure you’re not actually German?”
“To be a musician is to be a timekeeper,” Rafael said, scowling.
My friend bustled through the door and waved both hands at me, nearly blinding me with his megawatt grin.
Ross’s enormous, round doe eyes shone like a cartoon character’s when he spotted the composer.
He hurried over to us, pink-cheeked and wearing the same thing as always: a floral-patterned button-down, color-coordinating shorts, and Gucci slides.
We hugged, and he enveloped me in his comforting squish. Ross used to joke that hugging him was like hugging a Care Bear. I’d grown so used to hugging a man made of rock the effect was startling. We looked each other over, and I fluffed the dark brown curls brushing his collar.
“You let your hair grow out!”
“You dyed yours blue!”
We sat at a window table rather than at Rafael’s usual spot. Without his back to the wall, he fidgeted and cast surreptitious glances over his shoulder. I made introductions.
Ross’s eyes grew larger than I would have thought possible at the sound of the composer’s voice. “Wait, I know you from somewhere, not just the music.” His thick brows drew together as he studied Rafael’s aquiline face.
My composer propped his chin in his hand. “I cannot wait to hear it.”
I kicked him under the table. “Don’t mind him; he’s a grump today.”
Whatever realization Ross was looking for struck. His mouth pursed and his eyebrows shot up.
I leaned across the table and poked Ross in the arm. “Ok, now you have to say.”
Tiredly, Rafael waved an elegant hand. “Go on. She knows I am bi and kinky as fuck.”
I inhaled my coffee and coughed hard. “Goddammit Rafael. You’re supposed to warn me before you say shit like that.” Had the baristas heard? Surely they knew. He was fairly open.
Ross tittered nervously, eyes darting between Rafael and me. “Um, ok. Yeah, I saw you at Folsom like five or six years ago.” He gave me an apologetic grimace.
Bored, Rafael said, “When I invited all comers to take a swing at me? On the big St. Andrew’s Cross?”
Ross nodded. “I’m pretty sure they changed some rules after that. I’ve never seen anyone take that much punishment without safewording. There was a lot of blood. Oh girl, it was a mess.”
I laughed into my latte, mildly jealous Ross got to see that and I didn’t. “Did you give him a swat, too?”
Ok, maybe a little jealous of the participants, too. Did they count toward his total bodies? Wait, the scars on his back…Rafael caught my glance and arched a brow.
“Oh no, I just like to watch.” Ross’s eyes flickered to the composer’s arms, hidden under long sleeves as always. “I mean, you’re pretty distinctive. So tall, and that hair…”
“You want to ask about my scars?” Rafael asked flatly.
Ross fluttered his long, thick lashes with incredulity. “Ok, so why are we bitchy this morning? Did you miss your beating today?”
“He’s worried I’m going to get kidnapped or something at this fight and you won’t be able to protect me. So he’s mad at himself for agreeing to let me go. He also gets twitchy and mean when he can’t sit with his back to the wall. Did I miss anything?”
Rafael straightened. “Close enough. I am poor company for most people, Mr. Mayhew. Particularly when I am worried about Elaine. You two are going shopping, yes? I recommend something more…defensive for tonight.” He gestured at Ross’s slides.
“Maybe we should pop over to that leather boutique in the Haight.” Ross shimmied his shoulders. “Who can resist a theme night?”
Zainab brought over tray after tray with the rest of our order. Turkish coffee for Rafael, a large vanilla latte with caramel drizzle for Ross, and a massive amount of food.
“No freebies for you today, Mr. Vinegar.” The barista gave him an imperious look and handed me the rose latte with a wink.
I sighed. She was so sweet I couldn’t tell her the milk would murder my stomach. Lactaid, thoughts, and prayers it was.
Rafael plucked the latte out of my hands. “Dairy makes Elaine sick. Remake this with oat milk, please, Zainab.” He gave me a disapproving glare. “Why did you not tell her with the first one?”
I shrank in my chair. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Oh no, I should have asked,” Zainab assured me. “It just tastes better with regular milk.”
“I’m sure it does.” We shared rueful smiles, and she skipped off to the kitchen.
Ross clapped with delight. “Ok but we love a protective Daddy.”
Rafael winced over his small porcelain cup. “Do not call me that.”
My friend’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed. In a loud stage whisper, he asked me, “So, apart from the deep sexy voice and being able to climb this man like a mountain, why do we like him?”
I snorted. God, I’d missed Ross. “I swear, he’s normally witty and charming.”
Rafael set his cup down. “This woman is ruining my terrible reputation.” He leaned back and raised his voice just enough to carry to the kitchen. “Zainab, Mehmet, come and tell them how I am wretched and not at all charming.”
Ross nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, he’s a smartass. You do love a smartass.”
1 “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” by Charlie Daniels Band