Placing Out by P. J. Brown Page B

being a copper in L.A.?"
    "I'm not sure I know anymore."
    "Well, not fucking me is easy. Just leave."
    "And not being a copper? Quit? Get another job? Good luck with that."
    "Go someplace else and be a copper. Everybody needs cops."
    "And what would be different there? It would be the same shit all over."
    "Then we can go to Europe. Lot of Americans who don't fit in go there. Fitzgerald. Hemingway."
    "Europe? Have you ever been? I know I haven't."
    "No, but I've talked to men who have. It sounds wonderful."
    "Wait a minute." Ben straightened and turned to face him. "What we ? You said we go to Europe."
    Dylan stroked his thigh and reached up to touch his face. "You still want to pretend there isn't something here?"
    "So just like that, we up and run away to Europe?"
    "I'm thinking Germany. I hear good things about Germany. Berlin, especially."
    Abruptly Ben stood. "I can't believe I'm thinking of this. Go to Europe? Go to Berlin? And do what? Live as a couple? Married? Are you insane? I know I sure as hell must be. People like us don't set up housekeeping even in a place like Germany."
    "We can do whatever the hell we want. In Berlin we'd be just another pair of eccentric Americans. The Germans get them all the time. They think we're all strange."
    "What do we live on? Bread and water? Can you even drink the water in a place like that?"
    "Drink beer. I've got money saved. Why do you think I live like this?" Dylan waved his hand around the cramped room that had nothing but a bed, a beat-up chest of drawers and an equally battered table that had a stack of papers and books on it. Several of the books looked well-worn. "The only thing I've spent money on since I got here was clothes, and most of those were gifts."
    "That's the other thing," Ben snarled. He tipped his glass back and drained what was left. "You think you're going to keep whoring, you better rethink that plan. I don't fuck whores."
    "You just did," Dylan snapped.
    "But I won't keep on doing it." Ben had no idea where the jealousy came from. He'd never been jealous of the men he fucked before. Even Kevin, for all the affection he felt for the guy, he had never felt a twinge of anger at the thought of him with other men. Now, thinking of Dylan spreading his legs for anyone else sent a red pulse jumping through him. "You don't fuck anybody but me from now on."
    He saw joy and fierce pride race across Dylan's face. He came off the bed, graceful as one of the wild cats he had seen on his father's farm. Without another word he stepped into Ben's arms, laying his head on the bigger man's bare chest.
    "Let's go out."
    "Go out? What do you mean?"
    "You like movies, don't you? Huddle is playing at the Orpheum."
    "The Orpheum?"
    "You ever been?"
    "Yeah, once, I guess. Maybe twice." Ben shrugged.
    Dylan looked hurt. "How could you not love movies. Valentino? Navarro? Flynn? Powell?"
    Ben couldn't help it, he smiled. The younger man had so much enthusiasm. A movie with him would probably be fun. "I like them just fine. When does this thing play?"
    Dylan perked up. His beauty burst out with his smile. "There's a show in a couple of hours. You want to go?" he asked eagerly.
    "Anything for you." Ben reached up and stroked Dylan's head. He closed his eyes with a sigh. Dylan burrowed into him and murmured, "I told you we were good."
    Ben froze, staring down at his fingers woven through Dylan's golden hair. Feeling every strand. Caressing it. When his hand tightened, pulling on the scalp, Dylan looked up.
    "What's wrong?"
    Ben forced himself to relax. His fingers never stopped stroking the other man's head. "Well, I guess I better get cleaned up if we're going to the movies. Huddle ? Never saw it."
    "Oh, you'll love it. Novarro's in it. And Arledge."
    He'd heard of Novarro--who hadn't--but not the other one. "Arledge?"
    "You'll see."
    "Well, get dressed then--" Ben stopped and looked down at himself. Until now he hadn't remembered he had put on his oldest pants. "I'm not dressed to go