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stepping things up on occasion, but Andy would probably flip out if he did it in the
condo.
Arthur looked devastated. You mean you re right there in the middle of all those
clubs and bars, surrounded by gay men, and you don t do anything about it?
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Do anything? Frankie frowned. Well, we do go out, I guess. There s a bar down
the street we go to every now and again and have a pitcher of Sam Adams.
Arthur threw up his free hand and leaned back on the sofa, staring helplessly at the
ceiling.
Paul patted his roommate s leg and winked at Frankie. You have to forgive him. He
hates that he has to drive to Duluth or Grand Rapids to find anyone in the Scene, and
even then it s sparse. He stopped, considering. Well, there is that guy over in Hibbing,
but he s just weird.
Scene? Frankie repeated, feeling lost.
BDSM. Arthur gave the clarification proudly, almost defiantly. Paul seemed to
watch his reaction too, and something told Frankie the grumpy gaze from the kitchen was
on him as well, judging his reaction.
Frankie took a moment to mentally double-check his response. Sure, right. I forgot
that was the terminology. Josh took me to a BDSM club once. He hoped he sounded
casual and accepting, no trace of the fact that he d been in the place for all of three
minutes, legs crossed tighter than a virgin s before Josh had relented with a sigh and
taken him home.
Apparently he d done too good of a job because Arthur beamed and leaned forward.
Oh yeah?
Frankie paled, opening and shutting his mouth a few times as he tried to think of how
to deflect this, but Paul came to his rescue. Down, boy, he said, poking Arthur.
You ve been to clubs too, a lot more than this one, I ll bet.
Frankie gave in and nodded. Sorry, BDSM isn t my thing. It s hot to watch,
sometimes, but I m definitely not in the Scene. Josh isn t either, but he s fascinated with
it.
Arthur s eyebrows rose, and his face took on an almost predatory eagerness as he
settled back in his seat. Next time you get stranded at our house, you bring your
roommate.
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Jesus, you horn dog. Paul shook his head at Arthur with more affection than
annoyance. To Frankie he said, You ll have to forgive him. This is kind of his passion.
Frankie could imagine it was hard to yearn for something but have no way to live out
that part of himself. You should go to the Cities, he suggested.
Arthur grunted. No chance. I went once. Club s are fine, but Duluth s about as big a
city as I can take, and not for long. Minneapolis just drives me insane.
Really? Frankie tilted his head to the side and tucked his knees closer to his chest,
digging his toes under the quilt. Why s that?
He listened as Arthur went into a graphic rant about city living, how it was crowded
and lonely in the middle of strangers, how everyone was putting on a face and no one was
real. Some of it was overblown, but some of it was, interestingly enough, the same kind
of complaints Frankie had made to Josh. Because as much as Minneapolis had been a
refuge from Saint Peter, sometimes it made him feel lonely in a whole new way. Frankie
didn t commiserate out loud, though, only let Arthur carry on with his soapbox, nodding
when it seemed appropriate, noting when Paul felt the need to countermand his friend or
agree with him. It was, Frankie realized, one of the most fun conversations he d had in a
long time, and one of the most engaging. When Marcus appeared beside him with a bowl
of chili, he startled.
Oh! Thank you. He peered into the bowl, which was fragrant and gorgeous, a
white chili with carrots and generous hunks of browned chicken breast. Frankie blinked
at his dinner, then looked up at Marcus, impressed. Oh my. This is amazing. Thank you
so much for taking the trouble to make it for me.
He wasn t even surprised this time at Marcus s single-grunt response, but he did
notice that while Marcus had brought Frankie and himself a bowl, he only nodded at the
others and told them soup was on. The gesture might have been part of the man s
grumbling sense of obligation, but Frankie chose to see both the meal and the delivery as
a kindness. A small one, but at this rate with Marcus he d take what he could get.
They chatted more through dinner, though Frankie, Paul and Arthur did the talking,
Marcus listening except for very occasionally interjecting a comment or reminding the
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others not to discuss his past. Marcus s recalcitrance made Frankie that much more
curious about why he didn t want Frankie hearing about his time in Minneapolis, and he
wondered what it was Marcus had done there. Had he been a drug runner? Stripper? God,
if he had been the latter, Frankie was going to kill himself for not getting to see the show.
Something told him, though, that it wasn t that exotic, only something uncomfortable that
Marcus didn t want aired to a stranger.
Also, despite the kindness of the dinner service, Frankie still was pretty sure Marcus
didn t like him much.
He became even more convinced of this when Paul stood to volunteer for dishes and
Marcus took his place, almost forcibly. When Frankie tried to help, to earn his keep,
Marcus shooed him away like he was a plague. So Frankie settled in for more bawdy
tales and twenty questions from Arthur and Paul, relieved when Paul started to yawn and
suggest they head to bed.
It s still early, Arthur pointed out.
Yeah, but snow makes me tired. Except Paul had a look about him that said he
wasn t really tired at all.
Oh. Right, Arthur said, clearly picking up on the same look Frankie had seen.
Frankie tried to keep his sigh of resignation internal.
It was at this point Marcus reappeared from the kitchen, more growly-looking than
ever. I shut off the generator for the night, so we re on the yellow/brown toilet system.
Yellow let it mellow, brown flush it and refill the tank with the gallon jugs lined
along the tub, Paul clarified for Frankie s benefit.
Marcus pointed at the bathroom. No showers until the morning either. You can
wash your hands at the sink if you re fast, but we re down to what s in the pipes for water
until we turn the pump back on with the generator in the morning. There s wet wipes
there if you need them.
Frankie nodded his understanding, huddling under his quilt. In the coziness of the
evening, he d almost forgotten they were entering stage one of a blizzard. How many
days is it supposed to go on?
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Heidi Cullinan
Paul, who had done some weather intel at the café while Frankie and Patty had
chatted, shook his head. No idea. Initially it was two days of snow and then three of
blowing, but nobody has a clue now. It all depends on when the system moves over.
When Frankie shrank deeper into his blanket, Paul gave him a sideways smile. No
worries. We ll take care of you, Frankie.
Arthur tugged on Paul s hand. Speaking of taking care of people, I thought you
were tired.
Well yeah, but not so tired I can t talk to our guest for a second.
Well, I am that tired. He swatted Paul on the ass and headed for the stairs. Get on
up here in ten or I get out the paddle.
The hell you will, Paul said, but he hurried into the bathroom all the same.
Marcus and Frankie were left alone in the common room with the awkward
aftermath of the departure.
Clearing his throat, Marcus headed for the wood stove. I ll bank it up good and see
to the fireplace too, and then I ll make up the bed.
I can do that, Frankie volunteered, rising, but Marcus glared at him.
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