The Disaster Gay Detective Agency
1 Brandon
Brandon
A beautiful man walks in.
He’s so gorgeous, Brandon almost blushes, feeling like he’s been caught staring. Then he remembers he’s a concierge and he’s allowed to stare, as long as it’s expectantly, with a smile.
So he smiles.
The man looks around, and Brandon follows his eyes—the lobby is small, tasteful, and without any personality, the way a boutique hotel in Lower Manhattan should be.
It reveals nothing and implies whatever the guests want it to: black marble floor, wood walls, mirrors everywhere reflecting the man back in flattering low light.
There are empty armchairs and a table in one corner, for people to wait at, but no one is doing that now, just after midnight.
Brandon watches the man’s eyes take all this in, looking pleased, then come back around to the desk, where he sees Brandon, still smiling, and so he smiles in return.
He walks beautifully, too, his hips swaying slightly, shoulders back, like a dancer.
He’s tall, maybe six three, in his thirties, Brandon thinks.
White, with short dark hair and a beard, wearing a plain cream Henley and jeans that seem tight only because of how he fills them.
Just one evening bag slung over his shoulder, a few bangles on his wrists.
No jacket, even with how cold it is outside.
Brandon lets himself imagine a life with the man for a moment; he does that with beautiful men he sees.
Pictures their job—his would be environmental lawyer—their home together—a cozy loft in the West Village—their life—intimate, quiet, he cooks, Brandon would have to go vegetarian but wouldn’t mind, they’d have two dogs, travel all over the world.
The man is at the desk now, and he pauses, looking deep into Brandon’s eyes.
Brandon knows he’s not like this man. He’s at best an awkward twink, white, with dark curls and brown eyes.
Another nebbishy-looking twentysomething New York Jew—a dime a dozen here.
Not the type to inspire fantasies of a life together.
But still, the man looks deep into Brandon’s eyes for a moment, searching, like they’re connecting, maybe—like there’s chemistry.
“Hi,” the man says after a moment. “I’m checking in. Sorry, I know it’s late.”
He was waiting for Brandon to say hi first, Brandon realizes.
“That’s no problem,” Brandon says in his best, non-salivating-over-this-hot-guy work voice. “What’s the name?”
“Jon Engle,” the man says.
Brandon smiles, looking it up on the computer. “Like Lady Bunny.”
“What?” Jon asks.
Brandon feels himself blushing again. “Sorry, just…the name.”
“Like Lady Bunny’s real name,” Jon says. “I know. Just most people don’t. But it’s with an e , not an i .”
Brandon locks eyes with Jon, who knows who Lady Bunny is. Not a drag queen you would know in passing, probably. Not if you were straight. Jon smiles, and Brandon thinks for a moment maybe he was right, maybe there was a moment between them before they spoke.
Jon leans forward on the counter. “Not many people know drag queens’ real names.”
Brandon smiles, looking at Jon, forgetting about the computer, the counter, the hotel. “My friends and I do a game night sometimes, and that’s one of the trivia categories.”
“Yeah?” he asks. “That sounds fun.” Jon’s hand lifts up to support his chin, bringing his face a little closer.
He looks at Brandon, not blinking. He licks his lips.
Brandon isn’t sure, but he thinks this might be flirting.
If it is, should he flirt back? Yes. But also no; he’s a guest. And, honestly, Brandon isn’t sure he knows how to flirt.
“It is fun,” he says, staring back at Jon, trying to not blink like Jon is, in case that’s part of the flirting. “There are other categories, too, of course.” Keep the conversation going. That’s flirting, he’s almost positive.
“Like?”
“Um…” Brandon’s eyes feel dry from not blinking. “Porn stars who are couples in real life, rumored gay celebrities.”
Jon’s teeth are perfect and white as he smiles, leans a little closer. “That sounds amazing. Your boyfriend part of that?”
Brandon shakes his head. This is definitely a moment, right? “Don’t have one.”
“Really? A cute guy like you? I guess what they say about the New York dating scene being rough is true.”
“Yeah,” Brandon sighs. “Not for you, I’ll bet.” He blushes, realizing what he’s said. “I mean, where you’re from. Where are you from? Someplace with lots of hot people, probably.” He swallows. Did he just say that? What does that even mean?
Jon’s smile holds, and his eyes narrow a little, pleased with something. “Oh, all over. Seattle originally. Dating’s okay there.” He pauses, and they stare at each other too long. Brandon swallows. “So…my room?”
Brandon feels heat on his face again, and it grows warmer as he thinks of how many times he’s blushed since Jon walked in. He looks down, checks the computer, presses the buttons, and inserts the blank card to turn it into a key.
“Yes, we have you in room 310 for four nights,” he tells Jon, then hands him the key in one of the little envelopes, writing the number down. “Just one key?”
“Just one,” Jon says, taking it. Their fingers touch as he does, and Brandon swears there’s a jolt, not electric but something deeper.
“Thanks. I’ve had a long day, need a shower.
” He turns and starts to walk toward the elevators in the back but then stops and looks back at Brandon. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Brandon,” he says, swallowing it, trying not to think of Jon in the shower.
Jon nods and heads to the elevator. When the doors open, he turns around, and Brandon keeps looking at him.
Jon stares back in a way that feels like it means something, but Brandon isn’t sure what.
He stares back, unblinking. The doors close.
Brandon’s eyes immediately have one of those little seizures of blinking like they always do after he works hard not to blink for a while.
Brandon takes a deep breath like he’s been underwater and tries to think of things that will make the bulge developing in his briefs go away: his grandmother, that time he vomited in front of that hot guy at a club, that other time he vomited in front of a different hot guy at a different club, that time his friends all told him he should consider drinking less…
He takes another deep breath. His skin prickles with sweat from the encounter.
He takes one of the water bottles meant for guests from under the desk and cracks it open, takes a long drink, then takes out his phone.
brANDON
I’m in love
IAN
No you’re not
brANDON
The most beautiful man just came in
IAN
A guest? No you’re not
OLLIE
He could be! Love at first sight could happen.
IAN
It happens every day with Brandon. You’re not in love, and if Nicole didn’t have her phone on silent, she’d agree.
NICOLE
You’re not in love
IAN
See?
OLLIE
Nicole! Are you actually out of work? Before 2am? Early!
NICOLE
No, I’m just in the bathroom.
OLLIE
Crying again?
NICOLE
No
IAN
Yes you are
NICOLE
Shut up
IAN
I’m on in ten, gotta check my wig. Don’t do anything stupid with a guest, Brandon.
brANDON
But he’s so beautiful
NICOLE
Is he? Or is he just a tall guy with a beard?
brANDON
He can be both.
NICOLE
I’m going back to work
brANDON
I think he was flirting
OLLIE
That’s awesome!
brANDON
What should I do next?
OLLIE
I have no idea. Maybe go to his room? But also, I just took this new gummy, the guy said it was like a head high, but I am feeling it in my body for sure. Things are pretty cool. So maybe my judgment isn’t the best right now. Y’know?
My feet are like butterflies
brANDON
Ok
OLLIE
I might be sleepy
brANDON
Do you need me to call someone to watch you?
OLLIE
No, I’m just going to put on one of my podcasts and fall asleep
brANDON
You can sleep to those?
OLLIE
Oh yeah. Nothing chills me out like an unsolved murder. Night man
brANDON
Night
Brandon sighs and puts his phone away. Amber emerges from the back room as he does, but he’s become good at pocketing his phone before anyone sees it.
It’s not like anyone cares if he’s texting, especially not on the night shift, but Amber always makes a face when he takes it out.
Like she’s offended, because she thinks it means he finds her boring.
Which she’s not wrong about. But he didn’t invest in a degree in hotel management to take the night shift either.
The least he can do is talk to his real friends.
“A guy checked in,” Brandon says.
“Late,” Amber says, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.
“Yeah.” He thinks about pulling his phone back out, but then the hotel phone rings. Brandon picks it up. “Bergamot Hotel, front desk.”
“Brandon?” The voice is deep, soft, and it takes Brandon a moment to realize it’s Jon, who just checked in.
“Yes,” he says, realizing he waited a beat too long. “Can I help you?”
“It’s Jon, room 310.”
“I know. I recognized your voice.”
Next to him, Amber raises an eyebrow.
Brandon turns away from her. “Because you just checked in, I mean.”
Jon laughs, low and throaty. “Yeah. I was calling because I need a fresh towel. I just got out of the shower, and there are no towels.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry about that,” Brandon says, feeling his pants tighten slightly again. “I will send someone right up.”
“Why don’t you come yourself? It could take a while otherwise.”
Brandon licks his lips. Ollie said to go to his room. Ian said not to do anything stupid with a guest. “Sure, I’ll be right up.”
“Thanks.” The line goes dead with a sigh.
“You’ll be right up?” Amber asks, narrowing her eyes.
“Towel missing. The guy who just checked in said he was just out of the shower. Wants it fast. I was going to take my break soon anyway, maybe get some air on the roof, since the alley smells so bad. Mind the desk?” The lie tumbles out of his mouth, feeling obvious, jumbled, like he’s vomiting alarms.