Instance Ch. 02

Heavenly nodded slowly, but Jackson could see she clearly wasn't.

"And how have you 'seen' these things?" Ana asked.

Heavenly smiled benignly. "It's my job. As a medium."

"Seriously?" said Callie. "People pay you to do this? Tell them the obvious?"

"Callie!" Ana's voice wasn't loud, but her tone had edges.

Callie shut her mouth. She shook her head and turned her attention back to her phone.

Ana checked her watch. "Seven forty-five. Well, I'm afraid we need to pack up early, as the Australian Conservatives are having a meeting here at eight sharp.

Jackson noticed a look of anger pass across Ian's face, but the older man said nothing as the group stood and started packing away their chairs.

*

Jackson approached Ian as he made himself a cup of tea.

"Hey. Do you still have any work going? Maybe pay me under the table?"

Ian grinned. "I'm always happy to pay you under the table."

Jackson, oblivious to the double entendre, bit his upper lip. "I need to stop my savings bleeding out until I can find something else. Maybe just a couple of nights a week."

Ian stirred the teabag in his cup, then pushed it against the side of the mug and dropped it into a paper cup.

"That party's coming up that I mentioned to Blake. It'll be a busy night, and I want reliable staff on shift. I know I could rely on you to be discrete. But are you sure you want to work with alcohol?"

Jackson sighed. "Look, chances are, just being there's going to make me want to drink. But I need money. You know how it is."

"And how much do you spend on beer and cigarettes every week?" Ian asked.

Jackson flinched. More than he spent on food. Or utilities.

Ian put a hand on Jackson's shoulder as he sipped his tea.

"If you come to work for me, there are two conditions. One is that you don't drink on the job."

Jackson nodded. "Fair enough."

"The other is that you don't drink at all."

Jackson frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ian squeezed his shoulder. "Jackson, I've been where you are. You're heading for the lowest part of the curve. Now, they say there's nothing anyone can do to help an addict until he hits rock bottom. But I don't want to see you lose everything. For your own survival, for your own future—if you work for me, I want you to commit to not drinking."

Jackson gave him a helpless look. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Eight months coming here, and you still don't know?"

Yes, Jackson knew. One day at a time.

"Work for me six nights a week. During the day, hang out at the club so you're not alone with your thoughts. It's quite social. You're a gamer, aren't you?"

Jackson nodded.

"We have consoles down there, and when it's quiet the boys often have death matches, or whatever you kids call them. It'll keep you busy. And while you're there, I won't let you drink."

Jackson considered this. Spend six days—and nights—a week at a kink club for gay men. What could possibly go wrong?

"You can still apply for jobs. Go to interviews. And you'll find that easier if you're not hungover, won't you?"

The man was making sense.

"We'll feed you, and I'll pay you for whatever hours we need the extra hand. If you like, you can live on premise and rent out your house. That'd help you out financially, wouldn't it?"

Jackson felt a lurch in his gut. If he rented out his house, he might even turn a profit.

Ian put his arm around Jackson's shoulders and squeezed. "Think about it. Let me know. The Pos-U party's this Saturday night."

"What... would I be doing?"

"Serving drinks, mostly."

"I have no idea how to make cocktails."

Ian laughed. "Don't worry about that. We have professional bartenders. You'd be kept busy taking drinks to patrons, handing out condoms and looking pretty."

Ian put a hand under Jackson's jaw, and for a long moment gave him an intimate look that made Jackson feel uncomfortably scrutinised.

There was something about the older man that made Jackson want to impress him. He realised he was excited about Ian's offer; it could be a new start for him. It wasn't often anyone took a chance on him, and just knowing Ian was prepared to take him on gave him a surge of gratitude.

Ian took his hand back, and took a sip of his tea.

"If you want to, pop into the club at six on Saturday so we can outfit you."

"Outfit—"

"We have a uniform."

Jackson's eyes went wide, and Ian grinned. "It's nothing shocking. I just want to make sure you're ready to go on the shop floor, as it were."

Jackson dropped his gaze and studied the instructions on the coffee urn. "Okay."

"Incoming," Ian said, and moved away to speak to Blake as Brooke came up to Jackson and bumped her shoulder against his.

"So, is it official?" she asked. "He gonna be your daddy?"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Can't two men have a conversation without everyone assuming they're fucking?"

Brooke shrugged. "I guess. But it's more fun this way." She grinned, and Jackson shook his head.

"How would you feel, if I imagined you going down on a girl?"

She snorted. "Don't pretend you haven't."

True. Point well made.

"Besides, when one of those men is Ian, and the other one's you..."

"Cheeky," he said, before she could finish that thought. "Speaking of which—" He nodded towards her bruised cheek. "That looks as if it's calming down a bit."

"Yeah, the doctor said nothing's broken."

Heavenly drifted up to them and put an arm around each of them. "It warms my heart to see you two supporting each other in your time of need," she said. "Brooke, I didn't want to speak about the man who invaded your home in front of the rest of the group, but I want you to know, you're safe now that you have Jackson."

Brooke stared at Jackson. "Did you tell—?"

Jackson shook his head.

Heavenly gave them that dreamy smile. "I see everything." She turned to Jackson. "Brooke will keep you safe from Ollie. Trust each other."

With that enigmatic statement, she withdrew, and moved away to speak to Ana.

Brooke drew in close to Jackson. "What the fuck?"

Jackson shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Maybe she really is psychic?"

Brooke put a hand to her head. "I feel as if I've gone insane."

"Yeaaah," said Jackson. "About that."

He told her about the man who'd appeared in his lounge.

"Jesus," she said. "What the hell is going on?"

"I wish I knew."

He was quiet for a moment. "Brooke, I need to know. There's nothing... romantic here. Is there?"

He knew he sounded desperate, but something about her made him want to be close to someone again. He wanted to be around her, share himself with her. Protect her.

As Brooke looked into his eyes, liquid and hopeful, part of her knew if he pursued it, she might be persuaded. But she knew it was wrong. That wasn't what they were meant to be to each other. She felt it as strongly as she felt her feet on the ground, or the heat of the coffee in her hand. So she closed down any hope he might have.

"I'm sorry, Jax. You're a great guy, but it's just... it's not going to happen."

He nodded quickly and swallowed. Brooke saw his eyes glisten, and knew he was wounded beyond their casual acquaintance—that something else was behind that hurt look.

"It's not you, honestly—"

He cut her off. "Whatever happens, whatever's going on—we're in this together. I can't pretend that I don't want you in the worst way. But I will promise you now, I'll be here for you. Not hoping you'll change your mind. Just here."

"Fuck." Brook was choked up now. She threw her arms around his neck, careful not to spill coffee on him, and hugged him. He squeezed her back, drinking in her scent while he had her in his arms. It was going to hurt, being this close, knowing he could never have her. But if it was what she wanted, there was no way around it.

She pulled back and gave him a look of gratitude. As her lips parted to speak, he cut her off again.

"Don't," he said. "Please don't say I'll make someone very happy one day."

She grinned and looked down at her coffee. "But you will."

"Bitch."

She gave him a sad smile. "Yeah, sometimes."

"So," he said, moving the topic away from his humiliation, "I'm going to be working up at Horatian for Ian for a bit. Just until I find another job."

She gave him a flash of concern. "But the booze—"

"His conditions are that I don't drink, so... it might be the smartest thing I ever do."

"Wow. Okay. Can you do that?"

He shrugged. "I have to try. I've made zero progress so far. I don't have a job. My life's a wasteland. I don't have much to lose."

She sipped her coffee and frowned at the bitter taste.

Well, look, let me know what the doctor says, and let's catch up on the weekend."

He winced. "I'll be working."

"I have a full week so, I guess... at group, next week?"

He nodded.

For a long moment they simply watched each other in silence. Jackson moved first.

"Take care, Brooke." He brushed his fingers just above her bruised cheek, and she turned her face into his near-touch. "Text me if you see anything else."

"I will."

*

It was just before six, when Jackson walked up the stone steps and was let through the barred gate into Horatian.

He'd had a few encounters with men; mostly threesomes with his female partners, or the odd drunken hook-up, but that was about it. Working here would be... an education.

A bouncer let him through a locked door to a back staircase that led upstairs to the staff living quarters and Ian's office, and Jackson hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and jogged up the stairs, eager to find out what life had in store for him.

Ian met him at the top of the stairs and gave him a warm smile.

"Welcome to Horatian! I'm so glad you decided to come. Leave your bag here, and I'll give you the royal tour."

He set off down the corridor, and Jackson dropped his backpack inside the office, with a nervous glance over his shoulder.

"It's alright, no one here steals."

He sounded very confident of that, and Jackson wasn't sure how that could be—but there was nothing valuable in his bag anyway. Just clothes and a few toiletries. He jogged to catch up with Ian, leaving his bag to its fate.

At just after six, it was still light, and Jackson was surprised to find the living areas were bright and airy. Large windows overlooked the central shopping district, and the main areas had high ceilings, and were outfitted like any modern office catering to his generation.

A kitchen area was outfitted with cooking facilities, fridges full of free drinks, and machines that dispensed fresh fruit and cereals.

Tables were laid out to seat at least thirty people, and as Jackson watched, a kid of perhaps nineteen, dressed in a black t-shirt with 'Horatian' written on it in white text, cleared away dirty plates and cutlery and loaded them into one of three dishwashers.

Behind a wide wooden kitchen island, a man in his forties appeared to be preparing to make some kind of evening meal en masse. Jackson could tell from the ingredients and the preparation that it wasn't going to be cafeteria slop, but a plated meal.

"This is where we eat. The food is free, and we encourage our staff to eat here. Take what you want from the fridges during the day, and the evening meal's prepared by our resident chef, Lucas.

The man preparing the meal glanced up on hearing his name, and gave Jackson a smile. His eyes lingered on Jackson's face, then dropped to inspect his chest, his package, before finally moving back to his face.

"Hi."

"Hi," said Jackson, feeling slightly intimidated. Lucas was in exceptional shape, and Jackson wasn't. He might not be fat, but he was far from fit, and it looked as though 'fit' was a requirement of working here.

"Come on, I'll show you the lounge."

Ian guided him back into the hall, and Jackson was sure he felt Lucas's eyes resting on his arse as he turned his back on the man.

Ian took him down to another open area, divided in two. Large screens were set high up on the walls, showing live sports with no sound, while a bank of LCD screens filled one wall, all with men ranging in age from their early twenties through to Jackson's age playing co-op console games.

The upper section of the room held a couple of pool tables, and a few more fridges, all of which held non-alcoholic drinks.

There was a small stage at the end of the room, "For Karaoke nights, and ah, other entertainment," Ian told him, with a wink.

"Any time you're not working, you're welcome to hang out here. Just know, these areas are drug and alcohol free. If you want to smoke, there's an outdoor balcony."

Ian pointed, and Jackson noticed double doors, currently closed, that led out to a balcony.

"To be honest, most of my staff either vape, or give up smoking altogether," said Ian. "As you can imagine, I don't encourage addictions."

Jackson glanced nervously at those closed doors. Nothing to drink, no weed, presumably, and now he was going to be the only person in the building who smoked.

"Now, there's a gym on the third floor, which you're welcome to take a look at later, but since we're running short on time, let's show you the rooms. I assume from the fact you brought a bag, you've decided to take up my offer and stay?"

"At least the night," said Jackson.

Truth told, unless he was being offered a mattress full of cockroaches, he had every intention of staying on. He needed to rent out his house. He needed the money.

Ian took him down to a room that sported the number 22, in raised metal lettering, and unlocked the door with a swipe key on his belt.

"If you are staying, I'll give you a key card," he said. "But have a look around and let me know. I'll leave you to get the feel of the place. Then come back and let me know what you want to do." He checked his watch. "Don't take too long. If you're working tonight, I need to outfit you in about fifteen minutes' time."

"Ah, thanks," said Jackson.

Ian pointed past him to where curtains were drawn. "There's a balcony on this room. I thought you might appreciate it as a smoker."

"Thankyou," said Jackson, heartfelt, and Ian clapped him on the shoulder.

"You'll do very well here. I know you will. Right, I'll see you in a bit."

He left, and Jackson closed the door behind him.

The room itself was much like a motel room. It had a heavy wooden slat bed in the centre, dressed with a pale, neutral bedspread.

There was a small desk along one wall, and a door, which he found led to an en suite bathroom, that held a small vanity and a shower.

He sat on the bed and pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket, turning the packet over idly in his hand.

He had no reason not to stay. Free accommodation, free food. A way out.

But what's he going to ask you to do? No one gives anything away for free. You know that.

Yes. He knew that.

He got up and pulled open the curtains. Sunlight streamed into the room, and he pulled open French doors to his private balcony.

It was only just wide enough to stand on, perhaps a metre deep and three metres wide, and it overlooked a side street opposite a movie theatre. He leaned over the parapet and felt a heady rush of freedom, as the sounds of the city rose up around him.

He lit his cigarette and took a drag. He glanced back into his room. That perfectly made bed.

Does it really matter what he wants you to do?

He found it hard to believe Ian would want anything bad from him. All the staff seemed happy, healthy.

And there's a free gym on the third floor.

Fuck. Could life really be this good?

He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray provided on the ledge, and went back inside.

*

The catch, and of course there was one, was the uniform, which consisted of a choice of tight leather-look pants (under which no underwear would fit), black go-go shorts or a black leather-look thong, a spiked leather collar, and very little else.

"Any jewellery you like," said Ian, as he handed Jackson his options to try on. "But we have a no-shirts policy."

Jackson sighed heavily, and Ian took pity on him.

"How about tonight you just wear black pants of some kind. What have you got?"

"Ah, will black cargos do?"

Ian considered him. "Yes, I suppose so. But it'd be good to have you shirtless."

Jackson gave an embarrassed laugh. "No one wants that."

Ian gave him a stern look. " Don't be sillly. Lift up your shirt love, let's see what you're worried about."

Jackson kept his eyes straight ahead as he pulled off his t-shirt.

Ian's eyes widened. He ran a hand over Jack's chest with its sparse down of dark hair, down to his flat stomach.

"What are you worried about?"

Jackson shrugged. "Everyone I've seen here so far looks like a GQ model."

Ian laughed. "I admit, it helps them get through the door. But you'll get your fair share of tips."

"Plus, this tattoo..." Jackson nodded towards the all-seeing-eye tattoo on his left arm.

Ian ran his hand over it, and Jackson twitched under his touch. "It suits you. I wouldn't worry about it. There's far worse on my staff, believe me."

"Still," said Jackson, pulling his t-shirt back on. "I'd rather not expose myself."

Ian sighed. "Tell you what. Grab a branded t-shirt from my office. Wear it for the first hour, then take it off for the next hour. If after that you don't feel comfortable, you can put it back on and keep it on."

"Okay," said Jackson. He didn't like the idea of being shirtless in a room where everyone else had ripped bodies, but he needed the job.

"Sweetheart," said Ian, "As soon as that shirt comes off, and the tips start rolling in, you'll see. Shirt off is best."

He led Jackson into a large room that had a bar running the length of it.

"This is the room where you'll be working," he said, gesturing to include the main bar area. "Now, we are an SOPV—"

"A what?" asked Jackson.

"A sex-on-premises venue, which means we have a number of areas set up for our clients to enjoy. Since you're new, I suggest you stick to serving drinks in here. That way, the lads can keep an eye on you."

Jackson got a kick of nervousness from the way he said it.

"How are you doing there?" Ian asked, sensing his unease.

Jackson shrugged. "Okay. I'm just serving drinks, right?"

Ian nodded. "And handing out condoms. Obviously you have the option to do more, but I suggest you stick to serving drinks and see how you go. You might love the atmosphere. You might hate it."

He led Jackson back to his office, and fetched him a t-shirt.

"What size are you, love?"

"Medium, most of the time."

As Ian handed it to him, he gave Jackson a reassuring smile. "Your shift starts at eight. That'll give you time to get used to the place before things get busy. Have some dinner, shower up, get dressed. And if anyone gives you trouble tonight, you come find me. If you can't find me, ask any of the staff to help you. We look after our own here."

Jackson nodded. "Thanks, Ian. Appreciate this."

Ian put a hand on his shoulder. "This could really be a new beginning for you."

"I hope so."

"Me too."

Jackson picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, then with the t-shirt and collar bundled in his hands, made his way back to his room.

*

At 7.47 p.m, freshly-shaven and showered, Jackson stood in front of the full length mirror in his room and knew he couldn't step out the door.

It wasn't the black cargos, or the black vans, or the t-shirt Ian had given him—which, while fitting him through the shoulders, was clearly designed for someone more muscular.

It was the idea of wearing a collar. He stood with it in his hand, willing himself to put it on.

His phone beeped, and he knew it was a text. He was guessing from Ian, asking him where he was.

With his heart hammering, he raised his hands and fixed the collar as loosely as possible around his neck. It wasn't that long, but was thankfully loose enough that it didn't constrict his Adam's apple. His hazel eyes looked dark in the mirror, his pupils huge from nervousness, and the product in his hair gave it a glossy sheen. With the collar on, he looked... slutty. There was no other word for it. And that excited him.