10

"When Anwen wakes up, don't forget to brush her teeth. We skipped last night. Bye!"

Try as he might, Rhys can't get Andy out of his mind. It's not his fault Anwen has such an obsession about him. He's easy going, fun, with big, strong shoulders. And he needs the money. But where in this crowded city will he find him? It's not like he can hang around at the shopping center hoping he'll wander by on shift.

Rhys takes the bus to the station, the place Andy had his PTSD episode. Traffic's light on Sunday. Powerwalking past several panhandlers, he emerges from the platform and look around. A man with a guitar sits on a crate in front of an open guitar case.

"Mate, sing you a carol? How about 'Jingle Bell Rock?'"

He barely glance at the big black man, except he's wearing a beaded necklace with a Chinese coin, just like the one Andy had on last night. He looks vaguely familiar. That's it. He's the guy who was interviewed after he stun gunned Andy.

Walking back, Rhys asks, "Sir, would you happen to know Andy Davidson?"

The man's mouth breaks into a large smile as his eyes rove over Rhys. Not that there's much to see. He's wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt, his cleaning job attire.

"Women ask me that all the time," the man replies. He holds out his hand. "Sawyer McGee."

Rhys takes his hand and give him a hefty shake. "Do you know Andy or not?"

"Now, now, now." Sawyer grins and wags a finger. "I can't be giving out information without knowing who you are, what your place of business is, and three references, preferably from little old ladies you help cross the street or retired clergymen."

"I don't have time for this."

Rhys is pretty sure he's a friend of Andy's, but if he's going to ask him a hundred questions and butt his nose into his business, he's out of here.

"Andy never mentioned you were so rude." The man's melodious voice drifts behind him.

"Excuse me?" Rhys snaps his head around and head back his direction. "I asked you a simple question and you want to drag this into a social interaction. I'm going to be late for work as it is."

He quirks his eyebrows as if trying to figure Rhys out. "You're Anwen's Dad, aren't you? The one who wore him out."

"Yes, I am. And since you do know Andy, kindly let him know I have his money."

"Money, as in moolah?" Sawyer's mouth widens and his eyes light. "I can give it to him."

"No, can do. I have to work right now but tell Andy I'll be at outside of the Mogul Bank building at five when my shift ends."

"You know, mate, I don't have to tell him anything." Sawyer strums a jangled chord. "You're wasting my time. I've got songs to sing and bills to pay."

Yeah, right. He wants a tip.

Rhys extracts a five and drop it in his case. "You can sing 'Santa I've Been Naughty' for me. And Sawyer, I'm sorry for being rude. Please let Andy know I'm looking for him."

"Sure thing. Name?"

"Rhys."

"Number?" He unlocks his cell phone. "I'll text you when I give him the message. You can call me anytime, you know. You want Andy, I'm your man."

Rhys doesn't know what his game is, but he's the only link to Andy right now, and he's not ready to give him up. Will he ever?

He types his number into Sawyer's phone. "Call me when Andy gets the message. I don't want to wait around forever since it gets dark early this time of year."

..

.

Andy said goodbye to Dylan and Carina and headed for the station. He had a job and a purpose. He'd get a salary to oversee the fundraising venues and line up speakers and events.

In addition, Warspring would pay him a thousand dollars per speaking engagement and include traveling and lodging expenses. He'd even convinced Dylan that rock concerts were not conducive to gathering donations and suggested speaking to sports teams and business executives instead.

Sawyer was at his post, sipping a soda.

"Hey, my man. Get big tips today?"

"Even better." Andy fist bumped him. "You're looking at the new speaker for Warspring International. I'm going to be raising funds at charity banquets and special events."

"Woohoo! That's awesome. How much are they paying?"

"Enough for me to triple my contributions and get my own program going. Remember we talked about sports for LGBT teens?"

"Uh, yeah. They bought it? I thought blankets and food were more important."

"That only feeds the body, not the soul. We need to give the youth healthy outlooks to life, optimism, and hope for the future. Sports is the answer."

Sawyer clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I can't believe I'm hearing you say that. Man, this is awesome."

"Even better, I get extra tickets to the Donor's Ball, and you're coming. Maybe you can audition for the band or find a job. They're also looking for an assistant for their finance director."

Actually, Rhys could use the job, but he should offer Sawyer a first shot.

"Guitar I can play, but no spreadsheets for me." Sawyer scratched his head. "But hey, that boyfriend of yours was looking for you."

"Rhys? She was here?" The day kept getting better and better.

"In the flesh. Looking hot and bothered. Kind of rude at first, all business. He wants you to meet him outside of the Mogul Bank building where he works. You know where it is?"

"Near Mission Street Plaza in the Financial District. What time did he say he got off from work?"

"Five. I told him you were desperate to see him, worshipping the ground he walked on, mooning over him and unable to sleep. You wanna be the Cub to his Bear".

"Shut it." Andy shoved his friend lightly to conceal the happiness bubbling inside of him. "How about you put your guitar away and have a drink on me? I got a sign-on bonus, and we still have a couple hours to kill."

"Forget the drinks. Let's go shopping. You got to look the part of Mr. Executive Speaker."