Chapter 13

Arthur worked on Sunday. He had one show in the morning and five in the afternoon. I took some sleeping pills and slept until four o'clock. Then I showered, shaved, and put on a new shirt and a pair of smart black trousers I'd bought the day before. My stomach twisted itself into a knot of nerves, and I smoked and drank a beer while I waited for Arthur to get home. It was stupid to get so worked up over a date. I didn't remember being that nervous when I took Betsy out that one time. I was too busy fawning over her like a stupid puppy, waiting to be kicked in the teeth.

I ran a hand through my hair, then checked the bathroom mirror to make sure I hadn't messed it up. It wasn't so much the date that made me anxious. We would go to the bar, have a couple of drinks and some food, and talk, the same as we always talked. It was what might happen when we got home that made my heart pound and my palms sweat. Was Arthur nervous too, I wondered?

He walked in the door a few minutes' later, placed his bag of puppets in the corner, and took off his jacket. He seemed the same as always—a little slumped, dragging his feet, struggling to force the tiniest smile onto his face.

"You all right?" I asked him.

He nodded and the smile became more genuine. "It was a good day. I got some tips." He paused and looked me up and down. "Are those new clothes?"

"Yeah." I chuckled awkwardly.

"You look nice. I like the shirt."

"Thanks."

"What time are we going out?"

"Seven?"

Arthur nodded, found some clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom. I made myself sit down and try to relax while I watched the news. There was less about Joker and more about the continuing Gotham riots. The death of James Pearson didn't even get a mention. I lit a cigarette.

Arthur was in the bathroom a long time. I heard water running and imagined him washing himself, which led to me remembering how we'd showered together. My dick stiffened and I fought to put it out of my mind. We hadn't done anything in the last couple of days. Arthur hadn't been in the mood, and I'd been tired and anxious. His nausea had ended, and he was putting off starting on the anti-psychotic drugs for fear of additional side effects.

The water stopped running in the shower. More time passed. I glanced at my watch. He'd been in there an hour. Perhaps he was nervous, too, and hiding.

Eventually, the door opened, and he came out, wearing the red suit with a darker red waistcoat and a cream shirt. He had on his one good pair of brown and black brogues. He was freshly shaved, and his hair had almost dried, he'd been in the bathroom so long. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

I got up quickly. "You look—" I wasn't sure what to say. To a woman, I'd say "pretty" or "beautiful." It didn't seem right to say that to a man, although he was kind of beautiful right now.

"Is it too much?" He smoothed down the fronts of his jacket. "You asked me to wear it."

"No. No, it's perfect. You look good. Amazing, actually."

"Oh! Thank you." His smile became more genuine. "I haven't done this before."

"I know that, Arthur. I haven't either." I rested my hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. "Let's just make it up as we go along."

"That's a good idea."

I put on my blazer, and we headed out. I'd decided to drive rather than walk or get the train. I had no intention of drinking so much that I couldn't drive later, for fear I'd be even worse in bed than I imagined. A couple of beers would do—I wouldn't touch the hard stuff.

When we reached the car, I opened the passenger side door for Arthur, the same way I would have for a woman. It didn't occur to me to do anything different. I worried then that he wouldn't like it; that he'd think I was treating him like a woman, but he slid into the seat and shot me a smile.

"Thanks."

I shut the door and hurried around the other side of the car, wondering if Arthur was being virtually choked by butterflies the same way I was.

Traffic was light with it being Sunday, and I was able to park down an alley a little way down the block from the club. I wondered if I should have booked a table, but when we went in, only a third of the tables were occupied. A waiter in a dinner suit greeted us.

"Can I get you a table?"

"Yes, thanks, we haven't booked," I answered.

Arthur gazed about him, looking a little like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Perhaps I should have taken his hand—I could have, and no one would have cared. All the other guests were male couples. But I shoved my hands into my pockets instead, too worried about a display of affection in public, even one as minor as hand-holding.

"Please come this way."

We were shown to a table in the far corner away from the windows, for which I was grateful. I wouldn't want to be sitting by the window, visible from the outside, and have Wizard or God forbid, Dave, pass by and see me. The room was dimly lit with a small lamp on each table, making it intimate and discreet at the same time. I sat down and wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs.

"Would you like to order some drinks?" the waiter offered.

"Thanks, I'll have a beer," I said

"A lemonade, please," Arthur added.

I glanced around as the waiter walked away. No one else was near us. The tables were all positioned around the sides of the room, leaving an empty space in the middle for a dance floor. Music was provided by a pianist and a saxophone player at one end of the room.

I looked about me again. A couple on the other side of the dance floor held hands across the table, leaning close and whispering to each other. Another pair sat on the same side of the table as each other, cuddling and exchanging little kisses. I had to relax and stop being so uptight. No one in here cared. It was a gay club, for Christ's sake, with not a woman in sight anywhere.

Arthur lit a cigarette with shaking hands, his face betraying his anxiety. I pulled myself together, helped myself to a smoke, then took one of his hands in mine. He jumped and snatched his hand back.

"Hey. It's okay. We can relax in here. Everyone else is the same." I said softly, reassuring myself as much as him.

"Sorry." He placed his hand back on the table and cautiously extended one finger to brush my knuckles. I turned my hand over, offering my palm. After a moment, he placed his hand in it. "Sometimes I've been called a fag just from the way I looked or behaved. I've never done anything like this. It's strange being able to sit here and hold your hand and not worry someone might attack me."

"I know. I feel the same." I took a deep breath and smiled. "I need to relax, too. I'm as nervous as you are, Arthur."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Let's just enjoy the evening, okay? Not worry about how things are outside this building. We're safe in here. No one's looking and if they do, they don't care."

"Your drinks, Sirs." Smiling, the waiter placed our drinks on the table, along with two menus. Arthur's nails dug into my hand, but he didn't pull his away again. The waiter left us.

"I don't know if I'll be able to eat much," Arthur said.

"We don't have to. I looked at the menu in the window when I first saw this place." I opened my menu and indicated the first section entitled "Lite Bites." It had things like chicken wings, shrimp, pate and crackers, cheeses, and so on. "We could get a selection of these to share. Just snacks, really."

"Don't you want a proper meal? Like a steak or something?"

"No." I squeezed his hand. "Nibbles are fine. I don't want this to be all awkward and formal. We can just have a couple of drinks, eat bits of what we want, and listen to the music."

"Thank you, Travis." Much to my surprise, Arthur lifted up my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. "You always seem to know what I need. We haven't even known each other that long."

"I spend more time with you than I've ever spent with anyone. I pay attention." I drew his hand to my lips and kissed it in return. Then I opened his menu and placed it in front of him. "Why don't you pick two items and I'll pick two? Then we'll ask them to bring enough of each for us to share."

"Okay."

We ordered chicken wings, shrimp, mini ribs, and nachos with cheese and salsa. While we waited for the food, we held hands and sipped our drinks, barely talking. I couldn't think of anything to say, and Arthur continued to glance around him, his face anxious. His gaze fixed on something to his right and I took a quick look. Two men were on the dance floor, moving around in a slow two-step. Arthur's face softened as he watched. He'd said once he liked dancing and I'd seen him perform a few steps on occasion. I hated dancing with a passion and wasn't very good.

"Can we dance later?" he asked softly. "I've never danced except in my apartment back in Gotham."

"Sure, if you want to. I'm not very good. You might have to lead." Maybe I wouldn't hate every minute of it this time, because I wanted to please him.

Arthur snickered. "I'm a good dancer. You can copy me."

The food arrived in four dishes, and we were given plates to eat off. I released Arthur's hand and picked up my fork instead. Suddenly, I was starving, and my nerves had finally settled.

As usual, Arthur didn't eat much. He didn't like cheese, so he only picked out a couple of nachos without any on, but he had a couple of each of the other items. I filled my plate, trying not to look greedy, but eager to stuff myself.

"Didn't you eat today?" Arthur teased.

"No, I was sleeping. Didn't want to fall asleep on you tonight."

He giggled. "I never thought I'd get to do anything like this before I met you."

"Me neither."

"You know if you hadn't come along that night, I'd be back in Arkham right now. That's where they would have taken me after they charged me. The cops in that car thought I was crazy. I was laughing. All those people applauding me. All the fires." He snorted quietly. "It was like Bonfire Night in England."

"Arthur, you shouldn't talk about that. Not in public, anyway."

"What, Bonfire Night? No one knows what I mean."

"I meant, that night."

Arthur grinned. "Did you see me on the TV?"

"Yes." I glanced around, uncomfortable. No one was in earshot, and the music was loud enough to drown out our conversation unless someone was standing right by our table.

"I felt as if the whole world was watching me. Just me in the spotlight. For a few minutes, they were all looking at me. Even Murray took a backseat." He chuckled again and picked up a shrimp. "You've stopped eating." He held it up in front of my lips. "Come on, you're starving, right? I'll shut up, I promise."

I opened my mouth and he popped the shrimp into it.

"I couldn't help thinking about it, that's all. I kind of feel like I did that night. Not that anyone's watching, but I feel like I could do anything. I feel like I have your attention and that's more important than anything."

I couldn't help smiling, then. "Let's hope that if anyone's looking when we dance, they're looking at you and not me, or they'll be laughing. I'll probably fall over my own feet."

"Is everything all right?" The waiter appeared at the table.

"Very good, thanks," I answered.

"Can I get you any more drinks?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'll have another beer," I said. I needed one, after the reminder of what Arthur could be like when he was Joker. I'd been fascinated by him then, when I was an outsider looking in. Now I wasn't sure I wanted to see that persona again, at least not out in public where he could bring trouble on us.

The waiter brought my beer and took away the mostly empty plates. Arthur excused himself to go to the bathroom and when he returned, he hovered by the table. "Can we dance now?"

I gulped half of my beer. "All right. Be warned. I'm pretty bad." I got up and followed him onto the dance floor, where four other couples were now dancing. At least there were enough people moving around for the others at the tables to take less notice of me.

The musicians switched to a slow tune and I relaxed a little. The other couples seemed to be merely shuffling together. I could shuffle without tripping over.

"Put your hand on my waist. Here. And hold this hand." Arthur put my hands where he wanted them.

"I know this part. It's the footwork I need instruction on." I drew him closer, my right arm around his waist.

"That's easy. It's just a step forward." He stepped back and guided me to follow. I loosened my grip on him and looked down between us, at my feet. "Now your left. Now back. And your right. Forward, left, back, right."

I repeated the words in my head as I moved my feet, aware that I probably wouldn't be able to talk to him while I concentrated.

"Relax." Arthur laughed quietly. "You're rigid."

"I'm counting." I went forward instead of back and trod on his foot. "Sorry."

He laughed again. "Stop looking down. Look at me and move with me. Come closer." He slid his hand from my shoulder around my neck and brought his body against mine. "Look in my eyes."

"If I do that, I won't be thinking about dancing."

He smirked, all confidence. "That's a good thing. Your feet will move on their own. Come on, move with me. Just listen to the music."

Somehow, I found myself dancing, even managing to turn a few times when Arthur guided me. I held him closer, my arm tight around his waist. It wasn't so bad after all, and it made him happy. That seemed to be all that mattered.