Silence. Intense silence. Chilly air smelling of pine and citrus rushed through painfully neat rooms and corridors, whisking over nothing but bare furniture and knickknacks free of dust. Surfaces sparkled, yet had an opacity that lacked any élan vital. Solemn strains of a Beethoven requiem filled the air.
This was a place where happiness went to die.
In one room, though, a spark of life remained. A scented candle, fragrant with bayberry and red as blood, crackled to life in the semi-darkness. It passed from hand to hand, lighting taper after taper in a circle, until twelve flares of light burned brightly in the gloom. Each candle, held tightly or cautiously in a strong male hand, was lifted high in a circle as the men holding them glanced at one another, took a simultaneous deep breath, and chanted:
“Long live the Brotherhood. May our harmony and companionship be a beacon in the darkness of an unfriendly world. Let the Brotherhood bring light to the murky corners and sweep away the shadows of hostility.”
Again, they glanced at each other. Faint smiles lifted the corners of mouths plump and thin, narrow and wide.
“Here are the bylaws of the Brotherhood, long may they live. Act smart. Look cool. Share your prick, not your heart. Long live the Brotherhood!”
Smothered laughter broke out as all twelve men tilted their bayberry candles toward a vast central pillar and set its many wicks alight.
“So let it be done,” intoned the man in the position of leader. “So may it be.”
Silence filled the air for a long moment.
Then the doorbell chimed.
“Hot damn -- food’s here!” Micah, closest to the door, jumped up, shoved his candle into a holder, and, with a deft flick of a switch, turned the chandelier lighting on in the main room. “Who ordered tonight? David? What did you get -- Chinese or Thai?”
“Chinese,” David called as he put his taper into another holder, as did the other men. “Moo shu pork, egg rolls, wonton soup, sweet-and-sour chicken, beef with broccoli, sesame beef, General Tso’s, cashew chicken, lo mein --”
“Holy fuck, David! We’re not an army!”
“-- and dessert, too.” He blushed a little. “Well, you guys always say there’s never enough when someone else orders. I figured I’d get plenty.”
“Yeah, plenty of food, since that’s all you’re getting,” retorted Micah.
“Not nice,” Simon, their leader, rebuked, folding his hands. “And would you open the door before the nice delivery gentleman thinks we’re either crazy or not at home and goes away?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m on my way.” Micah smoothed his indigo silk shirt more neatly into his tight-cut jeans, ruffled a hand through his hair, and swung the door open. A delighted grin split his face. “Hwong Li! How did they know to send you? Was it just for me?”
“You are a horn dog,” the young Asian man retorted. His arms overflowed with boxes. “I drew the short straw.”
“There is nothing short about me.”
“So you say. Ninety-three ninety, please.”
“Ninety-three -- David, how much food did you order?” Micah turned, hands on his hips. “It’s obvious you don’t care, but some of us are watching our figures.”
David blushed a deep, dusky red. “I just wanted to get enough --”
“You got enough, all right. Lose about ten, and maybe you’d get something else, too.”
“Gentlemen!”
“All right, all right.” Micah folded his arms. “I’m not paying for all this myself, men. Pony up the cash.” All around the room, men dug into their pockets. David produced a twenty and handed it over, his cheeks still pink. Micah snatched all the cash, counting it with a quick hand before passing over a hundred dollars. He riffled the bills in front of Hwong’s eyes, letting him count the cash, before cracking a nasty smile and slipping the money into the delivery boy’s front pants pocket.
His fingers lingered.
“Why, Hwong, do I feel a spring roll in there?”
“Your touch would make bamboo soft.”
“Prick!”
“Yes. But not on the market for one such as yourself.”
“Fuck you.” Micah jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Keep the change.”
Hwong Li regarded him disdainfully. “Shitty tip.”
“You want a tip? Don’t insult me next time.”
“Aw, come on,” the youngest of their group piped up. “Hwong’s a hottie. Treat him with the r-e-s-p-e-c-t a sister, uh, brother deserves.”
Hwong glanced past Micah. “Hello, Christian. Got a kiss for me?”
“You bet.” Christian dug into the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt and pulled out a handful of chocolate drops. He unwrapped them. “Here, catch!”
Hwong did a nifty little seal impersonation and snaffled every treat in his mouth as they flew through the air.
“Someday, I’ll give you the real thing,” Christian teased.
“You wish you were so lucky.” Hwong stuffed the boxes of food into Micah’s arms, leaving him no choice but to grab them or drop them. “Night, ladies.”
“Asshole!”
“No, that’s your specialty.” Hwong turned and walked away.
Micah kicked the door shut and moved somewhat awkwardly toward the table in the center of the circle they’d sat in earlier. “Does someone want to help me with this? Simon? Laurence? Bree?”
“Nope!”
“You’re on your own.”
“No way.”
“You’ll sure as hell eat it, though.” Micah dumped the boxes down. “Fine, then. Chow down, but leave me the plain white rice.” He patted his flat stomach. “I don’t want to get a pot belly.”
“You’re in about as much danger of getting fat as you are of getting anything else,” Alex said bluntly as he flopped down in a chair and reached for a container marked Lemongrass Chicken Special. “Pot, kettle, black?”
“I don’t see you bragging about your conquests.” Micah’s voice was prickly.
“Honestly! Hwong wasn’t far wrong in calling you ladies. Quentin, you and Harrison get the beer and wine. The rest of you, sit.”
“Aye, aye, Simon!”
Micah sat in the middle of a buttery-soft leather couch and crossed his legs. “I think you’re all carrying this whole Brotherhood thing too far… or not far enough. Help each other out, everyone doing their part… then it all lands on someone like me.”
A slight, lithe, curly-haired man who had not spoken as yet murmured, “You need each other, Micah. Such is the purpose to this group.” He toyed with a blue crystal that dangled from a chain around his neck. “Even you need these others, deny it as you will.”
Micah regarded the man with distaste. “All I need, Liam, is one good night on the town with a decent fuck who knows how to treat a man.”
A youngish, multi-pierced man flopped down on the couch beside them. “You want a man who’ll treat you like a god.”
“So what if I do?” Micah retorted. “You just want anyone who knows how to make the bedsprings bounce, Bree.”
“Yeah, and?” Bree reached for some extra-spicy General Tso’s. “At least it’s been less than a year for me.”
“Not by much.”
“Liar, liar, pants not on fire.”
Simon sighed and rolled his eyes to heaven. “Enough! No one else says a word until we’ve eaten. I invoke Brotherhood Head status.”
“Yeah, you wish you could get some head,” Bree muttered.
However, despite his defiance, he fell silent, as did the rest of the men. Falling into place on chairs, divans, and sofas, they dug into the hot Asian food. Small moaning noises of pleasure filled the air as rich spices and tangy flavors crossed eager tongues, and sighs of satisfaction were heard as one or another discovered a favorite among the boxes and cartons. Even David, picking at white rice himself, found the courage to reach for a packet of soy sauce and then, with a shy glance up, took a vegetarian egg roll.
