Palimpsest (4,724 words)
The first time he met the boss's son, Frank was sitting at Thomas's desk, scribbling on some very important contracts with a magenta crayon.
"What are you doing?" Thomas yelped as he scrambled to retrieve the contracts from the mailroom boy, as he assumed the scruffy teenager to be. "Are you insane?"
"Oh, come on, lighten up." The young man grinned at him, totally unfazed. "I was just having a bit of fun."
"You were just getting both of us fired!" Thomas picked tentatively at crayon with the edge of a silver-plate letter opener. "Oh, god, oh god, I'm doomed."
"My name's Frank."
Thomas stared at the outstretched hand in disbelief, before ingrained manners made him take it. "Thomas Doughty. If you hadn't just got me fired, I'd be pleased to have met you."
"I won't let dad fire you if you go out to lunch with me."
Thomas pulled his hand out of Frank's firm, warm grip, and sat down heavily in his chair, looking, really looking at Frank's face. "Yes. I can see the resemblance now. But your father's not a lunatic!" Thomas leaped to his feet, grabbing all the contracts. "What is this, sexual harassment?"
"Hey, I just thought I'd buy you lunch as an apology. Listen, I didn't know dad had hired a new private secretary. He's used to me goofing around..."
Thomas looked at Frank again. "I'm interning here. It's my first break. I can't afford to louse this up. Do you understand!"
"I understand that you're really wired." Frank grinned. "I think that's actually very hot. You're gay, aren't you?"
Thomas put his hands over his eyes. "The rye toast was off, this is an ergotism related hallucination. When I uncover my eyes, you'll be gone." Frank's laughter made him sigh. "All right, I'll go out to lunch with you. If you can fix the mess you made."
"Sure." Frank pulled an object that looked like a pen from his pocket and ran it over the magenta, which disappeared. "Erasable crayon."
Thomas looked at the contracts, and then up at Frank. "I hate you."
Frank reached out and smacked Thomas on the shoulder. "No you don't. I'm the most excitement you've had in weeks, admit it."
Thomas picked up the contracts and put them in a drawer, which he locked. "Does that line usually work for you?"
"Only when it's true."
Thomas rolled his eyes and got his jacket, and checked, using the camera set in the desktop computer, that his tie was straight and his hair smooth.
"You look fine," Frank said. "Better than fine." He put his hands in the pockets of his artfully fatigued and ripped jeans, and posed. "Now it's your turn."
"You look... like someone who's always got what he wanted."
Frank scowled. "It's not all that easy being rich, you know."
"I'm sure it's a terrible burden. Well, are we going to lunch or not?" At this point, Thomas felt he was totally screwed, no matter what he did, so why bother kissing up. The boss wasn't going to like him socializing with his son, and the boss's son wasn't going to like him refusing to socialize.
"Look, really, I'm not going to get you in trouble, and I'm not... harassing you." Frank looked at Thomas with big, innocently blue eyes under a tousle of, expensively made to appear scruffy, carroty hair. "If you really hate the idea, I'll just go."
"Don't do that, you look like one of those public service ads for homeless pets." Thomas decided against another sigh. Frank was playing emo-boy enough for both of them. "All right, I'll let you buy me lunch and attempt to get into my pants."
Frank grinned. "Attempt?"
"I'm not easy. I just look that way." Thomas flicked a speck of lint from his lapel. "Does your 'I'm not really rich' act include eating at hot dog stands? Because I can tell you right now, that's so not going to get you anywhere with me."
"I can't eat at hot dog stands. They don't cost enough." Frank pulled a Stratus White Card out of his pocket. "Dad needs more points on the company card. He wants to use them to charter a Gulfstream for a family outing to Tahiti at Christmas."
"I was wrong, your father's crazy, too." It was a wonderfully freeing feeling, knowing how very, very screwed he was. He knew with an unshakable certainty that he would follow Frank, and Frank would do him dirty. He refused to believe in love at first sight. Lust, ok, fine. He could deal with lust. He kept his mind firmly on that concept, so that it wouldn't personally hurt when Frank turned around and betrayed him. Frank wasn't his friend. Frank was just a spoiled, bored brat who felt like playing with one of his father's possessions. Breaking it would be part of the fun.
Normally, Thomas would have been embarrassed to walk into a fine restaurant accompanied by someone who dressed like a street urchin but a strange state of calm had come over him. Even as he sat and accepted the heavy menu, he wondered idly if this was something akin to the state of grace martyrs felt before their doom.
"What are you thinking?" Frank asked after their orders were taken. "You look so serious, it must be something amazingly profound."
"Not really." Thomas smiled. To hell with it, if he was going down in flames, he was going to do it in style. "This is my dining at a five-star restaurant face." He picked up his water glass, and held it out in toast. "To my host's very good health."
Frank's smile looked a little forced as he clinked glasses with Thomas. Inwardly, Thomas gloated. He was right, Frank expected him to squirm, wanted to see him uncomfortable. "So, are you being groomed to take over the family business, or are you interested in something else?"
Frank cleared his throat. "Yeah, dad kinda expects me to follow in his footsteps. And you know, the money's hard to resist."
Thomas nodded and sipped from his water glass, while lowering his eyelids to show off his eyelashes, which he knew were ridiculously long and godawful cute.
Frank was staring. Silently, Thomas imagined giving himself a high-five. Maybe he could turn it around and break Frank's heart this time. This time? Well, of course, Frank had never been the loser in a relationship, you could tell that from one glance at the arrogant son of a bitch. The sexy, handsome, very, very masculine, son of a bitch. Thomas smiled. "I wonder if it's harder to resist when you're used to having it, or when you're still scrambling after it? We could compare notes on dreams, ambitions, that sort of thing. I wanted to be a lawyer, but couldn't afford college. What did you want?"
"I... I'm not sure." Frank picked up a breadstick and toyed with it, breaking it into small bits over his bread plate. "Something exciting. Something... dangerous."
"Policeman? Lion-tamer? One of those men who build skyscrapers?" Thomas paused to consider high-steel workers and his heartrate sped up slightly. He found all construction workers hot, but high-steel workers were absolutely sizzling.
"Um, no. I'd want to be my own boss. I don't like taking orders."
"It's an acquired taste." The appetizers arrived. Thomas began spreading delicate bites of his hot crab and artichoke dip on thinly sliced French bread. "Oh, this is nice. Try it?" He held out a slice of bread, smiling provocatively.
"I don't like seafood." Frank scowled as he worked on his guacamole.
"Allergic?"
"No, I just... don't like anything to do with the sea." Frank rubbed the back of his neck. "I even get queasy on the Staten Island ferry."
Thomas laughed. He didn't know why that struck him as so funny, but it did. "Maybe you could be a cowboy. A rodeo star. Oh, I know, a tornado chaser. When I was small, I used to pretend I could make tornados by turning around in circles until I got dizzy."
"So you admit it!" Frank leaned across the table to grab Thomas's arm.
"Admit what? Are you really crazy? Don't make a scene." Thomas shook off Frank's hand. Well, he tried to, but Frank wouldn't shake.
"I saw your name on the roster. I had to see if it was really you. And then I had to see if you remembered." Frank was intense, really burst a blood vessel, intense, judging from his flushed face. His grip tightened to the point where it really was beginning to hurt.
"Frank. Let go. I'm not kidding. I don't care how rich you are, I'm about an inch away from punching you." Thomas couldn't ever remember being so angry. That Frank dared to lay hands on him made him furious beyond reason. "Or maybe I'll just scream, 'rape'."
"You would, too, wouldn't you." Frank opened his hand and sat back. He rubbed at his temples. He'd gone unnaturally pale. "Don't... don't tell my father. I... have these spells, from time to time."
"Spells?" Thomas asked cautiously, regretting having called Frank crazy several times. He picked up a butter knife and fiddled with it.
Frank sighed and put his head down between his hands.
Emo-boy again, fine, better than raving loony. "Frank?"
Frank muttered into the tablecloth. "I remember being someone else. Sometimes I'm him. And... he's not a nice person."
"Have you ever... got in trouble because of ... him?" Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to play games with Frank.
"Almost. Dad bought me out of several messes." Frank grimaced. "It was always good-looking guys named Tom. I... I'm just... drawn to them."
"Right. Well...I'm sorry for you, really I am, but I think it best if I leave now. I won't say anything about this." Thomas dropped the knife to the table and stood up. The hair on the back of his neck was prickling and his stomach was so tight he was afraid he'd be ill.
"Thomas." Frank looked up at him. "I'm really sorry. For what I did. I should never have hurt you."
Thomas waved his hand. "I'm fine, don't worry about it."
"I don't mean that." Frank's eyes were even bluer than before. Thomas had no idea how that worked, but it was interesting. "When I was him."
"Yeah, ok. I've got to get back to work." Thomas fled, fighting the urge to stay and comfort Frank. He was not suicidal, and Frank was admittedly a disaster waiting to happen. Let Frank happen to someone else.
The next time Thomas saw the boss's son was at the holiday office party a few months later. Frank dressed up well. Thomas kept trying not to look at him, and failing. Frank was being polite, circulating through the room, chatting for a few moments with each employee. How wonderfully democratic, Thomas told himself while drinking the free champagne and trying to sneer internally to cover up the attraction he felt every time he caught a glimpse. By the time Frank approached him near the winding down of the festivities, Thomas had fortified himself perhaps a little too much.
"Happy holidays, Thomas," Frank said. His smile was a little too bright. "My dad speaks very well of you. You'll be going places."
"Thank you." Thomas clung to his plastic champagne glass, and tried to take a sip from it to cover his own nervousness, but it was empty.
"Would you like another?" Frank asked, already waving down a waiter.
"No, thanks. I'm... I've probably already had too much." Thomas put the empty glass down on a table. "So, I'd better be..." he said at the same time Frank blurted out, "Come to Tahiti."
"What?" Thomas looked at Frank. "I didn't hear you just invite me to Tahiti. I haven't had that much to drink. I don't think there is that much liquor in the room."
Frank ran a hand through his hair. "I had it all figured out. I was going to be so cool, so suave, so sensible. Look, dad's already chartered the jet, and there's three seats left over."
"I'm sure your family has plenty of friends who'd leap at the chance for a free holiday."
"No, not really. By the time dad got around to counting up the seats, everyone had already made plans. You don't have any plans, do you?"
"Sleep. That was my plan."
"You could sleep in Tahiti. I promise you there are beds."
Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Yours, for one."
Frank flushed. "It's not like that. Yeah, sure, I'd like to... but really, it's just... Tahiti is an island."
"I've heard that rumor."
"Ocean all around it."
"That's the usual definition of island, yes."
Frank lowered his voice even further. "I'm afraid. I keep thinking, what if... you know... "
Thomas shook his head. "Why don't you just not go? Say you don't feel up to it."
"You don't know my dad very well yet. He doesn't mind me being gay, but he'd disown me in a minute if he thought I was afraid of anything."
"All right, so how would my presence help you? And why should I care?"
"I don't know."
"Which question did you answer?"
"Both of them." Frank's eyes were huge and miserable.
"Oh, hell, not the puppydog eyes." Thomas flinched. "Fine, fine, I have no clothes for Tahiti, I burn like a lobster, and everyone is going to think I'm your date."
"Thanks, Thomas!" Frank clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. Thomas felt his heart flip-flop. He was, without a doubt, totally screwed. "I'll have our driver pick you up tomorrow, six a.m. sharp!" He went over to his father, beaming and waving and pointing at Thomas.
Thomas's heart sank even further as his boss gave him an assessing glance and a nod which he read as 'don't make Frank unhappy'.
The good thing about having no warning was that Thomas had no chance to panic. He thought. But he was wrong. He went home from the party, dusted off his suitcase and threw in all the clothes he owned that weren't already in the laundry bag, looked up Tahiti on the internet, realized he needed his passport and of course, panicked. The passport turned out to be in the Important Documents folder in his dresser. Which was naturally the one place he'd assumed it wouldn't be.
Thomas looked at the stirred up mess he'd made of his apartment during the three hour search, kicked a path to the bed and went to sleep. To hell with it.
Showering and shaving at five a.m. after three hours sleep and nursing a cheap champagne headache, Thomas tried to figure out how he'd got himself into this. However many hours it was to Tahiti stuck in a small plane with his boss, his boss's family, and his red-haired nemesis, it was too many. He paused to pack his shaving gear, cologne and the contents of his medicine chest, then stared at himself in the mirror for several minutes. "Tahiti. The chance of a lifetime. Go, enjoy yourself. Don't let Frank kill you." Thomas blinked. Where the hell did that come from? "And no more cheap champagne. If it's pink, it's plonk."
After several odd looks when he introduced himself to the various members of Frank's family, Thomas decided that Frank hadn't exaggerated about his propensity for getting into trouble with men named Thomas. He settled down in his seat, buckled himself in and began memorizing his printout of useful Tahitian phrases from 'Honeymoon in Tahiti- know before you go'. The Tahitian alphabet contains only thirteen letters. No 'k' or 's', in particular. So, if they'd been born in French Polynesia, would they be Fran and Thoma? No, wait, 'h' when followed by 'o' sounds like 'sh'. 'Tshoma'? No.
Frank sat next to him and nudged him with an elbow. "They have jeep tours. Takes you right into the jungle interior."
"No."
"Waterfalls and grottos. We could hike or take bicycles."
"We could go snorkeling."
Frank scowled.
Thomas pressed his advantage. "We could swim with sharks, while a guide hand-feeds them."
Frank looked at Thomas.
"It didn't say whose hand, but presumably not the paying tourist."
Frank sighed. "All right, I won't ask you to go into the jungle if you don't ask me to go into the ocean."
"Fair enough." Thomas folded up the print-out, reclined the seat and put on the sleep mask he'd found lying on the seat. "I'm going to try for a nap, if you don't mind, Frank."
"No. I don't mind at all."
Thomas had the creepy feeling that Frank meant to watch him sleep, but that was still better than talking to him, while Frank's father pretended not to watch them.
Thomas thought he was prepared for it to be different in Tahiti, but it hadn't really sunk in that December would be summer. Over 80 degrees and damp. In his one good suit, Thomas felt as if he was melting. The first thing he did when he entered the hotel room Frank's father had insisted on providing him was hunt for something cooler in his luggage. Gray slacks and a light blue dress shirt, daringly unbuttoned for several inches. No cuff links. Well, at least he wouldn't look like a typical tourist.
He was brushing his hair and trying to decide whether he could afford room service or should just go wander about and see what sights were available for free when there was a knock at the door. Three guesses who.
"Come in, Frank, it's not locked." Thomas turned as Frank entered the room, dressed in blue cut-offs and a glaringly orange and blue tropical print shirt. It looked good on him, fierce and vibrant.
"Dad's turned us all loose." Frank grinned, but a hint of uncertainty lay in his eyes. "You're with me, right? I promise, no jungles."
Thomas nodded. "Sure, what did you have in mind?"
"There's museums. Really. At least two of them!" Frank waved a glossy brochure. "Tahiti and Her Islands Museum and the Gauguin Museum. You like culture, don't you?"
"Gauguin. That sounds good." Museum, nice, safe, public museum.
"And we can go to lunch there. My treat." Frank smiled and Thomas felt himself drawn again.
The museum wasn't bad at all for a little place that could only afford copies. There were sculptures and exhibits about Gauguin's life and even a fairly nice small work on loan from the Louvre. The lunch was reasonably good as well, and you couldn't beat the scenery. They sat at a table facing a lagoon, and quite possibly were eating fish that had been swimming in that lagoon earlier in the day. Thomas relaxed. Frank wasn't really crazy, he was just stressed, that was all. If he lived somewhere as laid-back as Tahiti, he'd be fine. Better than fine. Thomas found himself watching Frank's mouth as he ate, as he talked about sight-seeing, as he ...
"What? I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. The heat and the food. I'm rather jet-lagged, I think."
"I said, why don't we go for a walk. You know, to settle the food."
"Good idea." Thomas got up and waited as Frank paid and then led the way. He seemed to have something definite in mind. "This way," Frank said as he took a path marked 'Harrison Smith Botanical Garden.'
They walked in companionable silence for a while. Thomas was agreeably sleepy and let himself walk on autopilot, strolling past masses of unidentifiably leafy and flowery things inhabited by various lizards and birds that rustled quietly out of the way.
"Why did you do it, Thomas?" Frank asked softly.
"Do what?" And then Thomas was slammed up against a tree with Frank's hand at his throat.
"Why did you set your will against mine?" Frank pulled him away from the tree a few inches only to slam him back again, driving the air out of his lungs. "You knew what it meant to me. It was my ship, my venture. It... was... mine!" Frank punctuated each word with another choking slam. Thomas couldn't get breath enough to speak, let alone fight back.
"You set the winds against my ship. You set your sweet words against my men. You set your hands on my men!" Frank roared and dropped Thomas to the ground, picking up a fallen branch and holding it above his head. "You fucked with Brewer!"
Thomas flailed weakly trying to silently protest his innocence. Who the hell was Brewer, anyway? A man's voice shouted in what Thomas presumed was Tahitian. It certainly wasn't English, and it didn't sound like French. Frank whirled to face the speaker and screamed something wordlessly raving. He threw the branch at the man and then lunged at his throat. Other men came running up, surrounding Frank, grabbing at his arms, pushing him to the ground and eventually sitting on him.
A large, motherly woman Thomas had seen at the museum came to him and helped him sit up. "What was the quarrel with your friend?" She patted Thomas all over, and he would have resented it, but at the moment he needed all the comfort and soothing he could get.
"No quarrel." Thomas coughed. "He's... sick. Not his fault." Getting Frank arrested in Tahiti would so not be a good career move.
"Amok," one of the men sitting on Frank commented. "We were fortunate he didn't have a weapon."
"Amok?" Thomas queried.
"Sometimes it happens," the woman said. "A man who was always a peaceful fellow will one day get a gun or a knife and try to kill anyone he finds. I never heard of one being taken alive." She looked at Frank thoughtfully. So did the men holding him down.
"No, no," Thomas was babbling, he knew it, but this is Tahiti, it's another world, maybe they really would kill Frank. "Frank's not... look, he just... he has these... fits, and thinks he remembers being someone else. And when he's like that, he thinks someone like me betrayed him. It's just me he gets angry with, no one else. If he doesn't see me, he'll calm down. I'll just go and you'll see." And get Franks' father to come rescue him.
"Who does he remember being?"
"I don't know."
The woman went over to Frank and looked at him. He was still wild-eyed, but no longer fighting. She touched his hair. "He has much mana. Too much."
"He has Rongo's hair, " the biggest man said. "Rongo, who healed the sick and raised the dead. If he has a god's mana, that would be too much for a man to hold. He would become tapu."
The woman nodded. "Yes. I know a priest. We could take him to Arahurahu for the ritual."
"Ritual?" Thomas stood up. "Look, Frank's not ... whatever you think. He's sick. You can't cure him with a ritual."
"Can your people help him?" the woman asked. When Thomas couldn't answer she said gently, "Do not fear. The ritual is nothing that could harm him." She laughed. "We haven't sacrificed humans in a very long time."
"Look, Frank, you don't have to do this," Thomas said as they stood before the dimly lit entrance to Arahurahu, which was apparently another tourist spot, but tourists don't go there at night, accompanied by people dressed in really scarily authentic Tahitian garments with even more scarily authentic spears and other objects which he didn't really want a closer look at. "You just explain you had bad fish at lunch and apologize and maybe your dad could fund a scholarship or something in your name."
Frank was trembling. Thomas could see he was terrified. "I could have killed you. I never... it never was so bad before. I looked at you and you're so beautiful and I wanted to kiss you. That was why I took you to the park. I thought it was romantic." Frank's eyes were wild.
"It was. It was very romantic," Thomas reassured him with a hand on his arm. "I'm all right. You don't have to do this."
"Yes, yes I do." His eyes suddenly flashed bluer again. "You don't give the orders, Thomas."
Thomas swallowed hard. "Frank. Frank, who are you?"
"Francis Drake. I'm..." Frank looked horrified. "And I killed you when you were Thomas Doughtie. The first time. I didn't trust you, and so I killed you."
"You haven't killed anyone. You just... need to talk to someone." Thomas glanced at the priest, a very solemn older man whose dignity wasn't spoiled by the flowery vine wrapped around his arm. "Someone with a degree in psychotherapy. And possibly you need chemical help to balance your neurotransmitters or hormones or... you know, at our age, hormones can really mess you up."
"Thomas." Frank's voice was deeper, and his eyes were immeasurably old and sad. "Did you learn nothing? Talking didn't save you the last time. It is fitting that I ask these people's gods to judge me. I was always ruled by the demons of the sea." Frank stepped forward. "What must I do?"
"First we show our respect to the Tiki guardian with a kiss and a flower," the priest said. He gave Frank one of the blooms from his arm wreath. "Then we go to Marae Arahurahu." He indicated the tennis-court size rectangle. "Then I will perform the ritual asking the gods to hear our petition."
Frank nodded and kissed the statue before giving it the flower. Helpless to stop this, and he wasn't really sure why he felt it mattered, except that Frank was sure to be disappointed and depressed afterward, Thomas followed suit, in his heart praying that someone should appear and shout, 'hey, you kids, get outta here, the museum's closed.'
No one appeared. No one shouted. Torches were set at the corners of the enclosure marked by stones, the light flickering orange across the solemn faces of the people surrounding them. "Frank," Thomas said, moving forward to stand next to him, "I have a bad feeling about this."
The priest said, "The spirit of Rongo is among us still. He came to us with hair like the sun, on a ship with many white sails, at a time when we were fighting bitterly with the Hawaiians. He commanded us to stop, that we should learn how to live in peace. He taught us how to build Marae. When we were hungry, he sent us across the ocean to a land called Peru, where we found the sweet yam, which we call Peruperu."
Frank listened and nodded. Thomas thought this whole thing was absolutely insane. He clutched at Frank's arm. He said softly, "A very bad feeling."
Then the priest began speaking in Tahitian, and doing things which Thomas didn't understand, and wasn't supposed to ever speak of to anyone else, which would be very simple because he hadn't the words. The torches smoked heavily, obscuring the stars. Thomas could feel Frank trembling.
The smoke smelled... familiar. Thomas had never been camping, or seen a wood fire, but it was... familiar. He wasn't listening to the priest, he was listening to other voices, talking around a fire somewhere else. It was on a beach, a stony and cold beach, where the fire was more of a gathering point than any real use. You couldn't heat the world, not even if you were a dragon, intent on setting it on fire. He was so cold, as cold as Frank, whose arm was ice under his hand.
He couldn't make out the words the people around the fire spoke, but the emotion was there, smothering smoky clouds of distrust and fear. Dimly he noticed the priest do something dramatic, and then stop. Apparently the ritual was over. Thomas felt a surge of relief. He turned to Frank.
"There, that wast not so terrible as I hast fear'd, my Captain-General. Thou hadst the right of it." He kissed Francis. "And now we shall be together again." He grinned.
Francis smiled back at him. "Grow thou a beard, my Thomas. I likest the feel of it."
Thomas nodded. "All shall be as thou command," he said, eyes shining with love.