Chapter Text
Patrick
Patrick keeps his voice neutral as he pulls into the dusty parking lot. “I didn’t get the job.”
There’s a pause, then his father’s voice comes through the speakers. A disappointed, “Oh.” Another pause. “Well, that’s just... I thought Beans put in a good word for you.”
Patrick smiles. Cousin Beatrice would hate that his dad still calls her Beans. “She did. Just not the right fit, apparently.”
His dad says, “You okay?”
Patrick pulls into an open slot and puts the car in park. He says, “I’m okay.”
“Are you coming home then?”
Patrick stares through the windshield, imagining taking his newly gay self back to his tiny home town where he’d inevitably run into everyone he’s ever known, including his ex-fiance. He shakes his head. “I don't think so. I’m going to hang out with Grandpa Silas for a while longer.”
“Ah. Okay. I know my pops likes having you there.”
“I like spending time with him, too. Okay, well, I–”
“Listen son, I, uh. I know you probably feel some kind of pressure about leaving… everything. And, um. It’s okay to, you know, buck expectations.”
Patrick didn’t know how badly he needed to hear that. His throat feels tight, but he manages to say, “Thanks, Dad.”
Clint says, “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I am. I feel… I feel like I’m waiting for something."
“Maybe they’ll reconsider and call you back. Trust your gut, son.”
*
Patrick pulls open the door of The Dancing Coyote Bar and Grill and steps out of the desert heat. He leans his elbows on the bar as his friend Stevie comes out from the kitchen.
She nods at him. “Happy six months, Brewer.”
Patrick’s eyebrows pop up. “How do you remember that?”
Stevie tilts her head down and rolls her eyes at him. “You sat right there and made me put it in my calendar while you watched.”
Patrick smothers a chuckle. “Oh, yeah. I was pretty drunk, huh?”
“I believe you said, if I’m still here in six months I want to reflect and reevaluate.” She crooks her fingers around the words. “But you slurred more.”
Patrick rests his chin in his hands and smirks at her. “I love that you remember our first meeting, Budd.”
“How could I forget? I’d been led to believe someone worthy of dating was gonna come in here and all I got was a pasty, gay Canadian.”
“Don’t forget your future best friend and a stellar accountant.”
“Mmhm.”
“And hey, I’m also very worthy of dating. Somebody… someday.”
She says. “Someday,” and grins. “Want a drink?”
“Sure. Want to listen to me reflect and reevaluate?”
“Only if you buy me a drink.” Her tone is exasperated, but her eyes twinkle with good humor. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.” Patrick nods. “You know, your commitment to our friendship is heartwarming. But I just talked to my dad. I won’t make you listen to that.”
Stevie snorts and turns to grab a bottle of whisky. She says over her shoulder. “So. The San Diego job. Hear from them yet?”
“Yep. Didn’t get it.”
“Oh, shit.” She whips around to look at him. “You good?”
“I’m a little salty they made me wait so long to interview, then longer still to hear back.” Patrick squirms. “But, uh, honestly? More than anything, I’m kind of weirdly relieved. The longer they jerked me around, the less I wanted to be there.”
Stevie’s eyebrows go up. “Huh.”
Patrick rubs the back of his neck. “I know. It’s weird, right? It was the real deal. High pay, executive track, the whole thing. I’m pretty sure I would’ve accepted an offer, and maybe it would’ve been okay, but right now, I just feel lighter.”
“So, that’s good then. Looks like running your own freelance accounting biz in little ol’ Joshua Tree has grown on you.”
Patrick sighs dramatically and makes a show of rolling his eyes. “I guess it’s alright. I mean, you’re here. I guess I can hang around for a while.”
Stevie shrugs and stifles a grin. “Suit yourself.”
Patrick watches his friend spin a jigger between her fingers, adding simple syrup and bitters to the glass. He says, “Oh, Silas wanted me to thank you again, for taking care of his emails.”
“Not a problem. I love Si, but he’s old and susceptible to scams. I’m happy to help him out. It’s just skimming the garbage and printing out the important stuff.”
“It’s much appreciated. He’s mostly worried about that resort company that wants his land. He doesn’t want you to get overwhelmed.”
“It’s not that bad. They send about one a week. They hint at big numbers, but no offer has been made. Do you think Silas is interested?”
“I don’t think so. He’s really focused on the art installation at the moment. Has anyone answered his want-ad for an assistant?”
Stevie slides a coaster in front of him and sets his drink down on top of it, dropping in a maraschino cherry. “A few. Only one standout though. Silas had me make him an offer, and he accepted.” She smirks at him, her eyes wide and glittering.
“Yeah? That’s great.” Patrick cocks his head to the side. “What? Why do you look like that?”
“I googled him.”
“Oh, smart. Background check is probably a good idea. I don’t need freaks or criminals hanging around my grandpa.”
Stevie rolls her eyes. “No, you sweet, summer child. Not like that, I googled him, found his socials and such.”
Patrick makes a face. “Ugh.”
“Just because you don’t do social media doesn’t mean it’s not a useful tool.”
“Well, I don’t want to see it. I don’t need to see pictures of his lunch.”
“Mmhm, I think you’d like his pictures, though.”
“Save it, Budd.”
“I’ll just say that I think you’re going to like him. Like, a lot. Like, enough to take your new found gayness out for a spin.”
“My new found gayness has been out for a spin, thanks. We all know how that turned out.” Patrick blushes at the memory.
Stevie nods in exaggerated sympathy and pats his hand. “You and Jake were months ago.You need to get spun again.”
Patrick scowls at her and pulls his hand away. He huffs, “How do you even know he’s gay?”
“Oh, he’s not gay, he said in an interview that he’s pan.”
“He got interviewed? Who is this guy?”
“It’s David Rose.” She looks at him expectantly.
“What? Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“Yes? David Rose. The Rose video family? They were all over the news for a minute last winter. Their money guy stole their entire fortune. David is the son.”
“I kinda remember that. That was just before I moved here so I didn’t pay much attention. Why would Silas hire him though?”
“He’s a painter. He’s in a bougie gallery in New York. But, my friend, he is very attractive. You are gonna die when you see him.”
“Well, he sounds way out of my league.”
“I said you’ll like him, not that he’ll like you.”
“Great. Thanks for the boost in confidence.”
“Oh, stop pouting, you baby. I have zero doubt that he’ll like you. You’re like a reasonably attractive person.” She grimaces
“Gee, thanks Budd, did that hurt you?”
She grins at him. “Anyway, he’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Are you gonna be okay? Because you kinda look like you want to take a run at him yourself.”
Stevie cocks her head, considering. “Honestly? He’s too pretty for me. I can’t date a dude that’s prettier than I am. I think I’m more interested in watching your reaction to him. You’ll want to do unspeakable things to this man.”
“Unspeakable things.”
“Look, you’re gonna like him, okay? Like, a lot, a lot.”
“You look. After what happened with Jake—”
Stevie rolls her eyes. “Right, right, your vow.” Her eyebrows go up. “But this could be your chance to try something casual. I genuinely don’t think you’ll be able to help yourself.”
Patrick squints at her. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
“I am. I am so sure of myself that I’ll bet you a hundred dollars that within the first week, you’re going to want this man.”
“Pphhtt. How would you even know if I wanted… that… him?”
“Dude. You’ve been told about your eyes, I assume?”
He flutters his lashes at her. “What do you mean?”
“They’re loud, man. Loud. You can’t hide a thing.”
“Yes, I can!”
“I knew the second Jake zapped you with his high powered sex laser, your eyes got all googly and dreamy.”
“Shut up, they did not.”
“And. And, I know that you’re not interested in him anymore because the last time you were in here and he came up to you, your eyes were blank.”
“He’s blank. Hot, but blank.”
“Right? Beautiful, blank Jake. Bless.”
“I’m just glad I can look at him now without dying of embarrassment.”
“Kudos for that. Again, I’m sorry no one gave you a heads up about him.”
“Oh, who had time? I’d only been here a week. I blame no one but my naively romantic self.”
“That, and being gobsmacked by the gayness?”
“Yeah. And that.”
Stevie winces. “That’ll do it.”
“Yes, it will.”
They chat for a while and when Patrick finishes his drink, he puts cash on the bar and stands up.
Before he turns to leave, Stevie says, “So. Bet?” She bounces her eyebrows at him.
Patrick holds out his hand, and when she takes it, he says, “You’re gonna owe me a hundred bucks, and I’m going to spend it on something so nerdy it’ll piss you off, like new accounting software.”
“You do half the town's books, if you can’t afford new software, you should be charging us more.” She releases his hand. “So, what do I get when I win?”
Patrick shrugs. “A hundred bucks, I guess? Whatever you want. I am unconcerned.”
Stevie grins wide, barely containing her laughter when she says, “Unspeakable things, Patrick. Unspeakable!”
David
No one could ever claim that David Rose didn’t know how to run away. Even with practically no money, he’d managed to find a way to disappear.
The man behind the counter at Budget Rent-a-Car is much too jovial for David’s mood. “Welcome to beautiful Palm Springs! Do you have a reservation?”
David wordlessly shows him the information on his phone screen. The rental guy, his name tag says Tony, keeps smiling. “Ah, yes. Mr. Rose.” He taps at the computer. “We have a Honda Accord for one week?”
“Yeah.” David removes his sunglasses and presses his thumbs between his eyebrows, hoping to relieve the growing ache there. He doesn’t know what he’ll do after a week, but it’s all he can afford.
After what his father calls the loss, David had started perusing a call-to-artists site that lists artist jobs all over the country. Then, after his own losses, more recent and much more personal than the loss of the family’s fortune, David applied for this job.
Three month contract, on-site artist’s assistant, outdoor art installation build/design- located outside Palm Springs, California. Lodging included.
This was not nearly enough information to make a decision. But David knew that Palm Springs is very close to LA and very far from New York. It seemed like a great escape after everything. So when the offer came through with decent pay too, David accepted the position.
The reality of it is sinking in though. What if he hates the job? Helping with an outdoor art installation could be interesting, but what if the artist is an asshole? What if there’s no time for David to work on his own art? What if he never paints again? David shakes his head. He can’t go down that road right now.
When David looks up, Tony’s face is concerned. “Are you okay, Mr. Rose?”
David has to swallow hard and clear his throat. “I’m fine. Long couple of days is all.” He takes a shaky breath. He knows he’s fucked when polite concern from a stranger makes him want to cry.
Tony’s voice is kind. “Well, there are many ways to unwind and recharge in our beautiful city. I do hope you indulge yourself.”
David nods mechanically. “Thank you. I’ll try.”
Tony slides a couple of brochures across the counter, tapping the one on top. “The aerial tramway is really lovely.”
David dutifully gathers up the brochures. “Yeah, I don’t do heights, but thanks.
Tony points to the exit. “Make a right outside the door. Your car will be in space C twelve.”
*
David settles into the car and sighs. He takes his time, adjusting the seat and getting his phone charger in place. He plugs the address into the navigation system.
He blinks at the line on the map and shakes his head. “Fifty-two minutes?” He reenters the address and gets the same result. “For fucks sake. Outside Palm Springs, indeed.”
It’s dark by the time he finally gets on the road, and he’s fine until he exits the interstate. The road begins to climb and turn alarmingly. Then civilization all but vanishes within a few miles.
David is concentrating so hard that he squeaks when his phone rings. He taps the dashboard screen to answer.
“Why are you calling me, Alexis?”
“Because you haven’t replied to my texts. Are you at your art studio thingy? Mom and Dad are worried.”
“I’m so pissed at them right now, Alexis.”
“Same, David! My agency just dumped me because I haven’t booked a job since…you know. Did you know they were paying people to hire me? The nerve. I mean, I knew they were paying for your career, but not mine too!”
And oh, how that hurts. David didn’t know about Alexis, but she knew about him. She knew they’d been paying people to buy his art. “I can’t talk about it.” David grits his teeth. The memory is bitterly fresh in his mind; confronting his father, and having him confirm and then have the audacity to act shocked, as if David knew what he’d been doing all along.
“So, where are you then? I know your art party thing was down there. Did you stay the night?”
David scowls. The art party. The art party was held at the Greenpoint Art Collective, of which David is… was a member. There, they announced the winner of a very desirable apprenticeship with a famous Portuguese artist. David grimaces remembering how Jet had apologized.
Jet is a friend and the director of the collective. He had no say-so over who won, but he apologized all the same. He knew how much David had been counting on winning that apprenticeship. He knew how desperate David was to get out of the cramped two bedroom walk-up the government allowed his family to keep. To get him out of New York and away from Sebastien Raine. To get some real money and maybe some actual attention as an artist.
Alexis snaps, “David?”
“No. I’m not… I’m not in Greenpoint. Look, I’m driving and I have to concentrate.”
“Driving where?”
“Uh, outside Palm Springs.”
“You’re in Cali, David? I thought you were going to Prague to work with that artist lady, or whatever, the art thing.”
“I didn’t— I changed my mind. Portugal sounds like a drag and Sofia Santiago’s work is so passe ́.” David’s not about to tell her he lost the apprenticeship. Nor will he tell her that the artwork he submitted with his application was over a year old because he hadn’t painted in that long. So he certainly won’t be sharing that the judges chose Brandon Sully’s mixed media piece of garbage over his.
Mr. Rose, your work… It's directionless and overly cautious. You seem risk averse and that makes for pallid work. Better luck next time.
He clears his throat and tries to make his voice sound more confident than he feels. “I’m going to be working with Silas Brewer, very big deal in the seventies, hung out with Warhol.” In truth, Silas Brewer had enjoyed only mild recognition, and there was exactly one photo of him with Andy Warhol. Whatever. A little embellishment never hurt anyone.
“Ew, David. The seventies? Is Sebastien with you?”
David is careful to keep his voice even. “Oh, god, no. I decided that we needed to take a break.”
“Really.” Her voice is flat. Disbelieving.
“Yes. Really. God, Alexis.”
The minute Brandon Sully was announced the winner, Sebastien had taken his arm from around David’s shoulder. He stood close by as the judges gave David their concrit, which in David’s opinion, was light on constructive and heavy on the criticism.
After, Seb had leaned close and whispered in David’s ear, parroting the judges words as if they were his own. “I told you, David. You’re too cautious. Your aversion to risk makes your art boring. It makes you boring. And I’m bored now. So.”
Alexis continues, “You were just so hung up on him…”
David’s chest hurts. “I was not… you know what? I’m on a very dark, twisty, mountain road right now and I don’t need to be distracted by your nonsense, so if you could, you know, fuck off or something, I’d appreciate it.”
“Fine, David.” She pouts. “Wait. Outside Palm Springs? There’s nothing outside Palm Springs.”
The road takes a slow right angle and businesses are lit up and there are gas stations and stores and street lights. David breathes easier. “Coachella is outside Palm Springs.”
“Coachella was months ago, David. Where are you going?”
“Oh my God, Alexis! Not that it’s any of your business. I’m going to Joshua Tree.”
“Ugh, David. Fine! Go drive into the middle of nowhere. Don’t text me when you get murdered.” Alexis hangs up on him.
“Ugh.” David looks worriedly at the road as civilization fades away again.
Finally, the GPS starts talking to him, guiding him to turn right, then left, then right again down a poorly maintained asphalt road. He passes a few lights off in the distance, but otherwise, it is dark. Very dark. David leans forward over the steering wheel and peers up through the windshield. There’s not even a moon tonight.
The GPS voice startles him. Your destination is on the right.
David turns into the dirt driveway and rolls to a stop. There is a rustic horse gate closed across the entrance with an open padlock hanging from the hasp. He rolls down the window and looks around. There isn’t a call box. He can’t even see a house, or any buildings from here, just a long, dark, dirt road on the other side of the gate.
David pulls out his phone. He’d traded emails with Silas’s assistant, some guy named Stevie. Surely all the details he needs are in an email. But he wasn’t really paying attention and got distracted by the idea that a grown man called himself Stevie, so he did not absorb the pertinent information.
David watches the spinny icon thing go around and around for what feels like forever before he gives up. He presses his useless phone to his forehead. “Fuck.”
His heart rate is starting to ratchet up and heat blooms across his back. He plucks at his sweater to pull air into it. He’s starting to sweat. How is it full dark and eighty degrees?
Movement catches his eye. Just outside the bright glare of his headlights, a piece of paper is taped to the fence post. David feels a flash of relief that lasts until he opens the car door. He looks down at the dirt, imagining ruined shoes and rattlesnakes and lizards and fuck knows what all could be underfoot in the desert.
He closes the door and leans back in his seat. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He looks at the paper on the fence. It’s flapping open and closed in the breeze. He squints at it. When the wind flaps it open he can see his name in bold letters across the top. He snaps a picture through the windshield and texts it to Alexis.
(10:58pm) D. Rose: I’m going to be murdered here.
He puts off getting out of the car by waiting for the notification telling him the text didn’t go through. Finally, David steels himself and opens the car door. “Shit. Okay. Shit.” Using his phone flashlight he checks around for creatures before placing a pristine Neil Barrett high top in the loose dust.
Welcome David Rose
The gate swings inward. Pull your car through, then close and lock the gate behind you, please. You’re in cabin number two. The keycode is the birthdate you put on your application.
He opens the gate. It swings back easily and he hurries back to the safety of his car. He pulls through and hesitates when he gets back out. Without the headlights, it’s dark back there, and creepy too, bathed in red from his running lights. Using the flashlight again, he walks back and closes the gate.
David snaps the padlock closed. He rests his hands on the gate and looks at the sky. He inhales through his nose, the air is warm and dry and there’s a sweetness to it. He blows out his breath slowly, and marvels at the stars. With no light pollution, he can fully see the milky way. It makes him feel hopeful. Maybe he can do this. He’s so far out of his comfort zone, but maybe it’s exactly what he needs. He smiles up at the star filled sky.
“This might be good for me.” He sighs. “I can do this.”
A single, high pitched yap yanks him out of his reverie. It sounds again and is joined by more yapping. Several overlapping voices yap and howl, and they’re getting closer. David hurries to the car and flings himself inside. He slams the door and just as he shifts into drive, a creature flashes across the road in front of him. A pack of coyotes is hot on its trail. They all disappear into the brush as quickly as they’d appeared. Their cacophonous voices fading with them. Dust swirls in his headlights.
David’s eyes are huge. “Jesus fucking Christ. Wolves? I cannot do this.”
David is relieved when he crests a hill and sees the road ahead is lined with low solar lamps. He follows them in a trance. On the left, he sees three small buildings, like sheds or something. Each one has a small reflective sign by the road with a number.
“Not sheds, cabins.” David says aloud, and he sighs. The stress of the week is catching up with him. The adrenaline spike from the wolf encounter is starting to crash on him hard. He pulls up in front of cabin two and kills the engine.
He gets the front door open and glances around. To the left of the door, there’s a loveseat and a coffee table facing the little kitchen on the opposite wall. Straight ahead is a doorway to the bathroom presumably. On the right, there’s a waist high bookcase separating the front door from the sleeping area. David is relieved to see a yellow post-it note on the bookcase with the wifi information on it. The sleeping area is just a double bed shoved into a corner with a window over the long side of the bed. There’s a little nightstand with a lamp beside the bed.
David strips down to his t-shirt and underwear before flopping down and burying his face in the pillow. It’s surprisingly comfortable and though he intends to get up and properly get ready for bed, David falls fast asleep.